Able
by Shmeeko
Summary: He had understood the concept of humanity and how clouded it was even before the infection. When it had hit and clarity had followed, denial set in. He was ready to shed his pride and join the ranks of those ready to fight for the right to live.
1. Anna

**The first of five parts. Contains OCs**

**Disclaimer: This is fanfiction. Everything on this site is fanwork of fictional variety. Therefore, Left 4 Dead is not mine.**

* * *

Usually, when she first awoke, the thing Anna saw was sunlight. It would be bright, flooding her white-walled room as if singing to her in a cheery tone: 'Morning is here, sun's up, now it's your turn!' Then she would force herself out of her deliciously comfortable bed with a yawn, stretch and a childish kick of her legs to relocate her covers. But today, when she awoke an hour later than usual and with a throbbing headache, her room was filled with a less exciting gray light from overcast skies. She practically had to drag herself out of bed, rushing as much as she could in her semi-conciouis state and knowing her bus was only a quarter-hour away from arriving.

She stumbled absently about the small room, pausing at the vanity to stare at herself, then rubbing her eyes in attempts to wipe away the bags underneath them. Thankfully, her outfit was lain out from the previous night on her chair – predecided by the school's dress code. She shed her flannel shorts in place of the dowdy knee-length black skirt she would later hike up. Her oversized shirt would be thrown into the bed, replaced with the white blouse embroidered with the letters 'SGCS' in the school colours of various shades of blue.

Her white socks were the next things to be pulled on, stretched to the point where they stopped just under her knees, as was regulation. She headed over to the mirror, in front of which she would normally spend at least an hour. Today, she only had time to darken her lashes with mascara and pull a brush through her dark brown hair. No sooner had she managed to hurriedly claw the last knot out did she hear a holler from downstairs. She slipped a hair elastic around her wrist -with intentions to later use it to pull back her locks of brown,- grabbed her bag from the foot of her bed and tore out the door.

"_Hola, _Mrs. Sanders!" She called as she jumped the final four stairs to the first floor. Instantly setting to pulling on her little black dress shoes, the young woman was approached by one much older. The elderly woman was still in her housecoat, cupping a mug of tea in her hands.

"Anna, my dear, you're running late!"

"I know, I know. My alarm didn't go off."

"You'll miss breakfast, though." Mrs. Sander's voice was distant as she spoke, as if she wasn't really paying attention to what the Spanish student at her feet was saying. She watched the youthful child hop clumsily around on one foot in order to pull on her last shoe, then the old woman brought her fist to her mouth and began to cough with such intensity she feared she would vomit something up.

This caused the girl to pause, fine features pulling into a precise frown for the second time that morning.

"Are you going to be okay, Mrs. Sanders?" Anna asked, her spanish heritage peppering her speech in an exotic accent. "You've had that cough for over a week now and its only getting worse. You sure you don't want to see a doctor?"

"Oh, Anna, don't you worry your pretty little head over me. My doctor has had quite a few troubling cases on his hands lately, I don't want to bother him with my petty cough." The woman pulled her hand away from her mouth, gazed momentarily into her palm before clenching her fist and cupping it around her mug once more.

"Alright, just promise me you'll get some rest today?"

"Of course, dear. Now, aren't you going to be late?" The young woman's face lit up with alarm as she leaned to one side, checking the clock over her elder's shoulder. She yelped at the time, noting that if she didn't run to the end of the drive she wouldn't make the bus. Muttering her apologies for not being able to stay longer, she pecked the woman once on each cheek and vanished out the door. Had she not been in such a hurry, she would've noticed the blood dotting the corner of the woman's mouth, or the blood that speckled the side of her hand she'd used to contain her cough.

* * *

Anna was right, had she not run, the bus would've been gone by the time she made it to the stop. Luckily for her, when she darted out into the middle of the street the bus was only in the process of pulling away from the sidewalk. Someone in the back had noticed her and hollered at the driver to wait. In a matter of seconds, the teen was in her spot near the front of the bus, clutching her bag to her chest and taking the time to collect herself by steadying her breathing.

When she'd calmed down enough and her heart had stopped fluttering about in her chest, she set her bag in the empty space beside her and turned around to peer down the aisle to the back. Anna was able to count the number of other students present on one hand, when the bus was normally filled with at least three times that amount. With a frown, she called lightly out to a nearby student: a slightly solemn looking girl who's attention was on the grey blurrs of scenery rushing by as they navigated the city streets.

"Hey," Anna's voice was soft, afraid she was disturbing the peace by talking at all, "is this seriously it for today?" The other student flicked her gaze to the foreigner and nodded with a concerned frown.

"Yeah, that flu has spread really fast in the past two weeks...some of the teachers were saying how over half the student body and staff were sick."

"Is that normal?" Anna still wasn't familiar with the 'normal' of American illnesses.

"Not at all. Would it be normal in Spain?"

Anna shook her head.

The girl went back to staring out the window, informally ending the conversation by doing so. The dark-haired girl let out a long sigh, mind wandering to her ill caretaker. She had a heavy feeling that Mrs. Sanders was sick with the same thing almost everyone else was. The troubling thing was that Mrs. Sanders rarely left the house. She was a rich, elderly woman with money to spare. She paid Anna to get groceries and run errands in return for letting her stay in her estate while the Spanish teen finished her final semester of highschool in an exchange student program.

So, the only logical explanation for the old woman to have caught the disease is if she'd gotten in from Anna, who would've been surrounded by sick people and just carried the illness indoors. The guilt at her from the inside out. Mrs. Sanders was such a nice old widow, and had she not opened her house to the program, she never would've contracted any curious adolescent diseases.

But was it a disease specific to their age group? The media begged to differ.

All over America, people were reporting an outbreak of serious illnesses in all ages. Some places had simply become so swamped in the disease that they'd been quarantined. No one was allowed in or out, and media coverage in those places had ground to a halt. Maybe Grenada was slowly becoming one of those places.

Anna shivered at the thought, gripping her knees tightly in concern for the new friends she'd made here. Friends that, because of the illness, she hadn't seen in days.

* * *

"Davidson, Mitchell?"

...

"Jones, Matthew?"

...

"Swan, Eliza?"

...

The room was being smothered in heavy atmosphere as the pale-looking teacher stood at the front of the class and read off an attendance list in a monotone voice. The amount of names that were not met with a response was depressing, and was growing increasingly discouraging the further the woman got down the list. Out of a staggering class of fourty-two, a whole fourteen were present.

Some of them still looked as if they should've been joining the list of those taking the day off. At least half the class was pale, and weary. Coughs occasionally split the silence like a stake driven through thick mud – heavy and alarming at first, only to settle into the weighted atmosphere in a matter of moments.

In some ways, the sickness made Anna feel a bit like a freak. Spending most of her life in Sevilla, Spain made her complexion naturally tan. In the throng of sickly pale people, she stuck out like a sore thumb. Of course, there were others. Not everyone had been cursed with the flu, but being different and strange in a foreign place...it made everything seem more _awkward _to her.

Looking around, Anna had to estimate that about six of the fourteen people were healthy. Though they sat rigid in their desks, some flinching at every cough and others slowly receding into a saddened state of mind before her very eyes.

"Alright, now that we know who's missing, can everyone move into the front desks? It'll be easier to-" the teacher paused to choke out a terrible set of coughs, "-Nnngh, sorry...It'll be easier to teach if you're all right here."

Slowly, everyone filed up into the front two rows, Anna feeling compelled to take the seat closest to the door, half expecting class to be dismissed and school cancelled until the sickness had been cured. The teacher then turned to the board and began to write, copying down the pages and numbers to math questions they were supposed to do out of the textbooks. The young woman felt herself frown. Textbook questions again? It was all they'd done for the past four days!

Grumbling to herself and hearing others share her opinion, she grudgingly went to open the book to the designated page and start her work.

* * *

Anna had lost track of time in her work, so when the class was suddenly disrupted, she felt the need to find the clock on the wall to verify that it was not yet time for second period. However, it had not been the ringing of a bell to pull her from her task. One of the kids in the back corner had begun to cough. Bad. First it had only been a small indifferent addition to the occaisonal coughs that littered the room, but now it had grown into something that sounded terrible.

She coughed and coughed and coughed, the breaths she wheezed in were ragged and high pitched before she'd cough them right back up. After a while of this none stop violent coughing, one of the healthier looking students at her side voiced the question they were all thinking.

"Are you okay?"

With that, the girl promptly doubled over and vomited over the side of her desk.

There was a weak chorus of 'ews' that rose up from the students, only to be silenced by a shrill yelp from a nearby girl.

"Ew! That's blood! She puked up blood!" People rose from their seats and backed away from the bloody mess, others hadn't left their desks and just started up their own feverish retching and coughing from disgust. Some people had just given up all together and sprawled over their desks, tears streaming down their faces from the pain in their lungs.

Anna felt something tug harshly at her heart. _This_ was the promised land? The place where people like her could make their dreams come true? The place to start a new life? She covered her mouth, feeling a wave of nausea crash over her. _This_ was depressing. Depressing and disgusting, and never had she wanted to be back home more than now.

Suddenly, someone on the other side of class let out an ear-splitting shriek. The healthier students had gathered by the door, clearly looking to make a hasty leave. The scream, however, drew all their attentions, Anna's included.

A boy sitting in the corner was pushed away from his desk, his palms pressing up against eyes, his fingernails visibly digging into his forehead and scalp.

"They burn!" He hissed, slowly doubling forward. His face was hidden under the shadow of his hood. Hoodie sweaters usually weren't allowed to be worn with the school uniform, but in light of the recent pandemic, no one had felt the need to tell him to take it off. In some ways, Anna was sure it would've been telling an elderly man to leave his walker at the front of the door.

But now, the hood only seemed to add to the bizzarity of the scene they were witnessing. The boy pulled his hands away from his eyes, blood collecting on his hands. Judging by the gasps and points of those around her, Anna guessed she wasn't the only one to notice the state of his hands. It seemed all the blood in his pale body had drained to his fingers, for they were an odd blend of blue, black and red in colour. His fingernails had grown, curling forward to almost look like claws.

"They burn!" He shrieked again, voice unusually high-pitched and raspy from a heavy cough. "My eyes! They burn! Get them out!" He turned to those by the door in desperation, standing now and staring wide-eyed at the students gathered there. Tears streaked from his face, like those on anyone else, however, his tears were red and thick. Blood. "Get them out!" He screamed again, this time directly to them. "Get them out! -" He began to chant the phrase, loudly at first and progressively quieter as he seemed to start saying the words to himself. His muttering continued even as he glared desperately at his hands. "Get them out!" He shrieked with finality, before plunging his fingernails into his eye-sockets and pulling their contents out in a shower of blood and flesh.

Anna felt herself retch, backing up into another student who'd been standing behind her. He reached to grab her shoulders firmly in his hands, no doubt to steady her and provide some form of comfort to himself, for that hold slowly turned into a shaking hug from behind. One of the girls seemed to break out of her trance and tear out the door with a shriek.

This scream drew the attention of the boy once again. Only this time, he'd stopped chanting. He dragged his nails across his desk, wiping them free of the gore from his skull, and turning his now eyeless face towards them. He began to growl something throaty and primal that sounded more feral than human. People were now slowly shuffling towards the door with a purpose, afraid that something even worse would happen if they moved too fast.

Slowly, the boy climbed onto his desk, crouching low while facing the small group of five students, that growl a continuous mess of noise in his throat. Blood streamed from the holes where his eyes once were.

"H-hey, C-chris?" One of the students to her right called out the boy's name. It proved to be a most fatal mistake. The hooded boy leaped into the air, clearing the classroom in an inhuman jump and landing on the boy who'd called him with a solid 'thump'. He dug his claws into his victim's chest and began to pull.

Anna didn't hang around to see anymore. She added her voice to the collection of screams coming from the small group of students and hurriedly tried to push her way to the door. When she'd made it into the hall, she'd turned around just in time to see a shower of blood be pulled from the boy's chest by the creature pinning him down before one of the other students slammed the door shut.

"_Attention students. I regret to inform you that...we have not been entirely honest with you these past few weeks..."_

A tired, feminine voice rang out over the P.A. On any normal day, Anna would've paused to listen to the message it carried, however, collective thumping against her classroom door motivated her to run down the hall and away from the monster the door contained. Two others accompanied her in her running, while the other students saw fit to run in the opposite direction.

"_The sickness that has so obviously hit our school with a solid blow is known as 'The Green Flu."_

Anna was hot on the boy's heels as they ran, afraid to fall behind. Another girl was behind her, holding her large glasses on her face as she ran, still carrying a book in the other. Like Anna's, tears streamed down her face. This was from the natural reaction to seeing one student tear another apart, however, not from the pain of an infection.

She was forced to come to a sudden halt when the boy in front of her stopped dead in his tracks, pushing back against the force Anna collided against him with. His arms were out, no doubt trying to contain the students behind him from running ahead.

"_It's a deadly disease that is known to cause strange mutations, feelings of violence toward others and a dulled neural reaction. The Green Flu is here at South Grenada, and the dangers are very much real."_

In front of the boy, a rather obese student had stumbled into the hall. His uniform had ridden up from the growth of his stomach, which was now breaking out in large, solid boils. He turned to them, large eyes pleading as he covered his mouth with his hands and pressed his lips together. Before their eyes, he seemed to expand, growing and mutating until-

_BOOM._

The three students were showered in gore and grime, though the student in front had taken the most of the shower, as he'd been busy sheltering the two girls with his body.

When the last of the biological explosion had hit the floor, the three straightened themselves out and turned their disgust to themselves, trying to remove what blood and green filth they could with their hands.

Suddenly, students came pouring out of their classes, the science of doors completely forgotten as they were thrown off their hinges or just broken through. Without so much as a pause, the crowd threw themselves on the boy who'd taken most of the blow. In a matter of seconds, he was buried under a sea of pale flesh as their former classmates pummeled him with their fists and feet.

"Run!" The bookworm behind her yelled, tugging on Anna's arm as she stared in horror at the scene before her. "We have to get away!"

Anna shook her head to clear the thoughts, turning her back on the boy's screaming and yelling for help as she let herself be dragged down the hall, away from the throng of former students. When they were far enough away, the bookworm let go over her hand and start running beside her.

"We had to run," she said breathlessly, "We had to run. We couldn't have done anything to help, there was nothing we could do." She paused to heave a breath, though Anna had a feeling she was reassuring herself more than the exchange student. "We had to run, we had to run, better safe than sor-"

An inhuman roar interrupted her and in a blurr of motion, a hulking shape had barrelled into her, carrying back down the hall from which she'd run. Anna skidded to a halt and stared dumbfoundedly as the large figure carrying her bowled into the group of pale-faced students that were once tearing their former classmate to shreds. The foreigner started to walk back in that direction, wondering if there was something she could do...something to...

"_I regret that, as a school, we have failed to properly prepare you to face such a threat. I wish you only the best of luck and good health. God be with you all. Class dismissed."_

Her classmates suddenly whipped their heads towards her. Their voices seem to blend into one grotesque roar as they started sprinting in her direction. She let out a scream in instinct and took off again down the hall. After a while of navigating the hallways and wondering just how she could've forgotten which turn the exit was so soon, she began to tire. She could only leap over so many collapsed or bloody corpses, and dodge a certain number of people running against the grain for so long. Her arms already had bruises from a few close calls, but it seemed now as the horde of people were gaining on her in her fatigue.

With tears streaming down her face and a fierce will to live, Anna pushed herself a little further, a little faster, until an open blue door to her left caught her attention. The Janitor's Closet. She all but slammed into the door in attempts to slow down enough to make the quick turn. She whipped inside and pushed the door shut. She was only allotted a few seconds of silence before an awful thumping began to sound from flesh colliding with steel. Without thinking, she grabbed the metal frame shelf to her right and pulled it down, stepping back as it fell most of the way to the floor, hitching on the opposite wall and forming a diagonal brace against the door.

Try as they may, her former classmates could not get in. Not with that there.

Shaking from the rush, Anna collapsed against the back wall, dragging herself into the corner and pulling her knees close. Her heart skipped a beat and unleashed a torrent of tears. She couldn't hold back as she buried her head in her hands, shoulders shaking and quivering as she sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. Her mournful cries muffled by the flesh of her hand sounded choked and childish. Though still she shook, trembling, crying, sobbing uncontrollably. It was all she could do as she listened to the snarls outside the door, and the occasional scream that echoed down the hall.

* * *

When Anna awoke, the noises outside the door had vanished. She could no longer hear any banging against steel, or inhuman snarls outside the door. Her classmates -no, those _zombies_- had clearly moved on. A growling in her stomach reminded her that she'd nothing to eat all day, and she had no idea how long she'd been in the Janitor's closet. Slowly, she lifted her head out of her arms and looked around. There were cleaning supplies scattered across the floor, and in the shelf to her right positioned against the back wall, more supplies. She grabbed onto this shelf, using it to pull herself to her feet. Her legs felt like jello.

It didn't seem that there was any food on any of the shelves or on the floor. In hindsight, why would there be? It was a Janitor's closet. However, this did mean that she needed to find some, which would involve leaving the sanctuary of her safe-room and back into the outside world. It was that, or starve to death in a 5 foot wide cement room. She first set about trying to push the shelf back upright, which proved to be difficult. In the time it had been left there, it had settled itself quite nicely into a groove in the wall. It would take a lot of power to move it, power she just didn't have.

But this gave her time to step back and think things through. If she went out there, she needed to be prepared for what might be waiting for her. If she got creative...there were several things she could use in here as a weapon.

She started by taking one of the utility belts hanging from the walls and fastening it around her waist. It was a little big for her and hug clumsily off her hips, she knew it ran the risk of falling down if she squirmed too much; but there was little she could do about it.

There were some cans of anti-dust computer cleaning spray, which she hooked into the loops of her belt upon spotting a barbecue lighter as well. With that, she had a flamethrower. The mop that had fallen over upon her entrance was pulled out from under the shelving unit and snapped in half, creating a makeshift stake and a weighted stick for clubbing. Pocketing an exactoknife and a roll of duct tape for good luck, she set back at using her thick wooden stick to pry the shelving unit back upright.

When the mop handle snapped yet again (making it even shorter, which would mean getting closer to those _things_) she decided it was likely not going to move. Claustrophobia crawled into her mind and sunk its fangs in deep. She never considered herself to be afraid of small spaces, but running the risk of dying helplessly in the closet...Her heart rate began to pick up. She gave a muffled cry, gritting her teeth together as she paced as much as the room would allow. With an angered huff, she spun on one foot and gave the shelving unit a good kick, only to draw back in pain.

The peice of her stick that had gotten wedged under the shelving unit and broken off had been sticking out, and when Anna had gone to kick it in her anger, it responded by drawing a deep gash along her calf. Cursing to herself in her native language, she bit her lip and sat back. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes as she automatically set out to do what she'd never done before. She wiped up the blood with a disinfectant wipe, deciding to later pocket those before she left. _If _she left.

After tightly wrapping a towel around her leg and securing it there with duct tape. She put her weight back on her hands with a sigh, letting her head fall back. She was trying so very hard not to cry. Tears wouldn't help her none in this situation. She had to get out somehow, or die trying...Calling for help didn't seem like a good idea, what with the creature wandering around outside...it was better not to waste her breath. Breath...Was it possible she could use up all her oxygen? It wasn't an airtight room, but there wasn't much of a space under the door for the air to get in. Oh. Wait, nevermind. There was a vent.

A vent!

Anna blinked up at the large square panel that translated into a ceiling ventilation passageway. With the incline of the shelf...she could very well make it up there! She was small enough to fit, she estimated, and it sure was better than sitting in a Janitors Closet the rest of her life, which didn't seem to be very much long.

Managing to find room on her body to carry the wipes and whatever else she could fit in the side pouch, she set to carefully climbing up the incline, shelf by shelf. It wasn't that much of a rise, but it was good enough. The thing was, she was slightly afraid of the unit collapsing and hitting the floor entirely, destroying her chances of getting high enough to reach the cover.

Thankfully, the support held firm. She managed to pry off the cover and pull herself up into the dark, cramped vent. Utilizing a flashlight she'd found in the closet, she lit up the long steel tunnelway. She scrunched up her nose, nearly retching at the smell of decay that wafted through the vents. Having no other option, she was forced to proceed towards the smell of death, and began carefully crawling in the direction of what she knew to be the hall.

She wasn't quite sure where she planned to exit, and if she had her way she would've preferred it be somewhere outside. After about being up in the duct for about five minutes, she ran into her first sign of trouble. There was a figure curled up at the end of the tunnel, blocking the passageway entirely. At first, it looked like just another corpse -_Just another corpse? Was she getting used to this already?- _until she noticed the steady shift of body weight that meant it was breathing. Someone was still alive! Maybe they'd hidden up here to escape the turmoil in the same way she'd hidden in the closet?

"Hey!" She called, her voice hoarse and throat raw from being neglected for a few hours after such panicked screaming. She cleared the lump in her throat, then called again. "Hey, excuse me!" The thing stirred, shifting awkwardly in the cramped space. It managed to turn its head towards her. It was a young boy, probably in one of the younger grades at the catholic school. His blonde hair was messy with dirt and grime, blood streaming down his chin from his mouth. In a panic at the pale-faced sight, she turned off her flashlight, hoping it hadn't seen her.

Yellow eyes stared at her in the dark.

She slowly began to back up, though the dark thought of having nowhere to go was getting heavier and heavier as the idea settled on her shoulders.

The thing moved, croaking and groaning in such odd ways as it tried to re-adjust itself again. As it did so, Anna reached back for the dust-remover.

Finally, the creature found it's feet on the vent, and rapidly began to claw it's way towards her. Its had limited maneuverability in the crammed space, but it seemed to be making good progress as it approached her faster and faster. It got about a foot away before Anna narrowed her eyes, yelled a curse to it's face, and then the vent was consumed with fire just as the creature lunged for her.

Something snapped underneath their combined weights, and Anna went crashing to the floor. Her back met linoleum tile under the flaming corpse of the creature. She grimaced and cried out, shoving the burning flesh away from her and scrambling away until her back connected with a wall. Her face was hot, and her arms now lacked hair, but she was alright. She was alright and she was out.

Shakily, she pushed herself to her feet, the smell of burning skin and hair now fresh in the air, mixing with the nauseating scent of decay. She needed to get outside. The halls were dark, the power having been cut and the skylights providing very little light in addition, in fact, she thought it was likely it was just before nightfall. She'd been in that closet almost all day.

With a determination and new found hope to see the outside world, she carefully started heading towards the exit. Her flashlight was back on, and now having calmed down she was able to remember which way was out. She kept the spray can in her pocket, however, ready to use it the moment something came running her way. She would just drop the flashlight and flick the lighter...and then...well, she knew fire worked well on these things.

She sprinted to the double doors when she saw them, eager to see natural light flooding through the small windows on either side. Body checking the things open, she stumbled down the steps and gratefully collapsed at the foot of the stairs, ignorant to the scraping on her knees from hitting the concrete so hard. She was _out._ She was out and she was free.

But not safe

Anna's face fell as she slowly pushed herself upright, eyes wide as she stared down the hill to the subdivisions below. Most of the houses were on _fire._ Further along, in the heart of the city, smoke billowed towards the sky. The glass of one of the sky scraped glittered with the light of fire, from both inside and out. How had this all happened in one day? Was she the only one left? Was _everyone _like this? She could feel herself beginning to cry again, arms shaking violently as she began to believe all that had been for nothing, to stumble out into a world destroyed.

It was a distant crackle that brought her back to her senses. There were what, seven billion people in the world? It was highly unlikely that she was the only one. There had to be more, she just had to find them.

The crackle sounded again, and this time she was able to identify it as movement, somewhere behind her. She turned, only to stare blankly up the steps and into the dark halls. Nothing was there.

Yet still, she heard it again. The distinct shuffle of small, quick footsteps and then a high pitched giggle. Slowly, she reached for her homemade flamethrower. She never got the chance to use it, however, for a dark shape hurtled itself off the roof and directly at her.

In a panic, she turned to flee, only to have the weight solidly connect with her shoulders, driving her several steps forward before she lost her balance and began to tumble down the hill, dragging her hitchhiker with her. Together, Anna and the little pink thing rolled down the hill, the Spanish girl trying as hard as she could to grab on to the creature who'd lost its grip on her and use him to break her fall. She succeeded just before colliding with a rock near the bottom. Thankfully, the ginger-headed creature was her safety net, providing a decent cushion between her and the rock.

Rising once more, and beginning to feel sore from all the bruises, Anna was down a can. She decided not to trek back up the hill and retrieve it, however. She still had one more and wanted to stay as far away from the school as she possibly could. With a huff and a solid kick to the broken creature's gut, she carried on down the hill, sliding in the mud before reaching the road near the bottom.

There was nowhere else for her to go but into the city. She wasn't about to turn around and head back to the school, and there wasn't much in the ways of 'other people' in the fields and forests behind the grounds. Heading into civilization, or what was left of it, was her only option.

* * *

Anna had lost count. She'd lost count of how many steps she'd taken, how many minutes had passed, how many times she'd jumped or flinched at the flicker of a shadow or an echo of noise. She tightly clutched the dust-remover in her hand, her lighter in the other. Sometimes, she'd had the blessing of running into an infected individual who would spot her from the other side of a fire, then run through it without realizing the consequences of setting itself on fire.

Other than the occasional flaming corpse she had to dodge, she'd been pleasantly surprised to find she hadn't met much resistance.

However, she hadn't met much of anything else, either.

Walking down the long, seemingly endless main road was both depressing and tiring. Each step added to her fatigue, and reminded her that she'd gotten no closer to find anyone. Cars were littered across the road, some abandoned in the middle of the street and some crashed into guardrails with blood staining the windows. She forced herself not to look at those ones.

Gradually, she began to tire. Her stomach rumbled in protest from so much activity running on empty, but she dare not search any store or house on her own, where there were shadows and rooms in which things could hide...Eventually, hunger would drive her into some building, but she would avoid the experience for as long as she could.

Each step became harder and harder. She tried to entertain herself by counting each footstep in her head, and guessing how long it would take for her to get from one landmark to the next. First she counted in Spanish, then in English, then switching to Spanish once more. When that stopped being distracting, she let each footstep help her to recall a memory

_Step._

Playing in the park with Mama when she was only five, encouraging her mother to push her higher on the swings, loving the peak of each push because it gave her the sensation of flight.

_Step._

Getting her first bicycle when she was eleven. They were not a wealthy family, so the shiny new toy was a welcome gift, her favourite for years. She rode the thing everywhere, treating it almost like an extension of her body.

_Step._

Flying to America in a fancy plane on an exchange program to complete her final semester, if she got enough scholarships there, she could attend a high-class university for her doctorate.

_Step._

Meeting Mrs. Sanders, touring her beautiful home. Meeting new friends in a new school, gaining an understand of English she hadn't gotten from public school English classes. Good grades.

_Step._

Carrying the Green Flu into Mrs. Sanders' home.

_Step._

Her classmate ripping his own eyes out in a mad panic.

_Step._

Another student being swarmed in infected, a direct result of protecting Anna.

_Step._

The bookworm being pounded into the ground.

_Step._

Being Alone

_Step._

Being Hungry

_Step._

Being Lost.

_Step._

Scared.

With that thought, Anna hit the dirt.

Not intentionally, however. In her distraction, she'd picked up speed. Tears had begun to blurr her vision once again. So lost in her own grief was she, that she didn't notice the corpse in her path until she stepped on it. Well, more accurately: tripped on it.

She clattered to the pavement, feeling the burn in the palms of her hands and her knees as she just barely caught herself and prevented a painful face plant. Gathering herself once more, she sat on the concrete and turned to see who she'd tripped over. The body of a cop lay face-down in the middle of the road, blood pooling out from around his head. She grimaced, eyes travelling a little further along the road to find his car, the door open and a trail of blood leading from there to where she sat with him.

Well prepared to get up and carry on her way, Anna began to rise. She stopped herself when she spotted something shine on the officer's uniform. Her hands darted for it the instant she realized what it was.

_A gun!_

She clutched the pistol in her thin fingers like it was a delicate flower, afraid to set it off or somehow break this blessing. She fumbled with it carefully, running the pads of her fingers down the barrel, moulding the flesh of her palm around the handle, delicately placing her index over the trigger. She had a weapon now. A real weapon. And better yet...she had transportation. She could _drive_ out of Grenada! Where she'd go, she wasn't sure, but anywhere was better than here!

She scrambled to her feet, carrying the pistol with her as she dashed to the car. Leaping inside, she shut the door firmly behind her, sitting behind the wheel as she steadied her breathing once more, surprised how much that excited dash had jump started her system. She stroked the wheel as she breathed, finding the gas pedal, settling into the seat. Luck was with her, for the keys still hung out of the ignition. She gripped the black-covered key for a moment, praying to the lord for the vehicle to start. Biting her lip, Anna turned the key and held.

And then wished she hadn't.

Sirens blared, lights flashed and the car roared to life. She desperately searched for the switch that operated the noise and lights, but among the multitude of buttons and switches, she wasn't sure which did which. Frantically, she tried everything. The car emitted a strange assortment of noises, the lights flashing in different patterns and creating quite the show. All the comotion almost drowned out the distant, inhuman roar of a demon on the prowl.

Almost.

They came from the shadows, the buildings, both the way she'd come and the way she'd yet to go. The noise summoned them, the lights aggravated them. With no regard for their own health, they slammed into the patrol car from all angles. As the crowd of infected gathered around it, the car began to rock, the young woman inside swaying with it. Someone was banging their head repeatedly against the driver's window, shatterproof glass causing blood to burst fourth from his vessels and obscure the vision to the outside the world. Each window suffered a similar fate, becoming the canvas to artists who used their own blood as paint.

Anna didn't realize she'd started crying again until she tasted salt on her tongue. Shaking uncontrollably, she clutched the pistol to her chest. She began to think the worst.

She would never be able to wake from this nightmare.

Her eyes couldn't shut tight enough, her screams would never be loud enough. She couldn't block out the shrieks and snarls of those around the car, she couldn't erase the sights of blood splattering this way and that, nor the faces pressed to her windows in eagerness to catch a glimpse of what treat lay inside.

Without thinking, she slowly let her finger tense around the trigger of the weapon. A quivering hand lifted it in synchronization with the slow backwards tilt of her head, until the muzzle of that gun pointed directly at her chin, drawing an invisible line of fire to her brain.

One shot would end it all. She could leave this cursed country behind and join her father in a better world. She could silence the screaming of those around her, and forever stop the painful jabs of hunger at her stomach, the wrenching of her heart in fear and desperation. And the tears...they'd never have to fall again. She'd never blind herself with them again.

Taking in a shaky breath, she shut her eyes tightly and gripped the pistol tighter.

A single shot rang out.

* * *

**Please leave a review. Any thoughts are appreciated. Public response will help determine whether or not it's worth it to continue. I personally don't really use OC's as main characters (it bothers me), so this is a first, and something I'm hesitant to do. But here it is, after having sat in my brain for forever and a day.**

**Thanks for reading this far x3**

**Toodles,**

**Shmee**


	2. Brian

**The second of five parts. Contains OCs**

**Disclaimer: This is fanfiction. Everything on this site is fanwork of fictional variety. Therefore, Left 4 Dead is not mine.**

* * *

The open road spoke in volumes as it shouted of freedom.

Mid-evening and barely a car on the road, Brian felt like the luckiest driver in the world. Going eighty on the highway, wind tearing through the open window of his humble Honda Civic. He couldn't help but to smile as he drove, eyes darting every now and again off of the road and to his visor. A black butterfly clip held an old photo in place beside the mirror. It was a simple, black-and-white photo taken years ago in front of a public school that, if he returned to it today, would be replaced by a strip mall. In the photo, a young boy wrapped his hands around an older girl in a loving hug. They couldn't have been older than ten in that photo, but the expression of cheer on their faces seemed infectious and eternal.

Every time his blue eyes would pass over the smiles, he'd feel one begin to pull at his lips. Jackson was only a day or so away now, only so many more hours of driving to go. He'd be there soon.

_Hang on, sis, you'll see me soon._

He turned his attention back to the road, clutching the wheel tighter as he eased up on the gas and began to cruise along the road on momentum. One hand lifted off the wheel to run through short-cut black hair, then pausing to run along his jaw and feel the slight stubble beginning to grown. How many years had it been since he'd last seen Leanne? Ten? Twelve? A while before he joined the peacekeepers, that's for sure. She was five years his senior, and as soon as she'd hit nineteen she'd packed her bags and left. Not out of anger, but out of a desperation to see the world through her own eyes, to find a life her very own.

He'd been fifteen at the time. So, considering the maths, that had been fifteen years ago. It had been fifteen years since she last saw her kid brother. Of course, their mother sent photos to her, and there'd been many holidays where Brian had been forced into a conversation with Leanne over the phone. They'd never really been as 'forced' as he'd complained them to be, however.

The phone rang, vibrating in the seat to his right. He glanced at it first, trying to catch a name on the illuminated screen. Though in actuality, he didn't have to read the name written there to know who was calling. He reached for his phone, let it ring once more in his hands and then flipped it open.

"Hello?"

"Hello Brian!"

"Oh, hey mom," adjusting in his seat, the marine settled down for a long conversation, forcing himself to keep his eyes on the road. "What's up? I'm driving."

"Oh well, I thought it would be a bad time...I was just calling to see how you were! You didn't call yesterday and I was worried something had happened."

"I'm fine mom, what's there to worry about? I was just exhausted when I found a place yesterday, I practically just passed out on the bed. Besides, it's not like anyone would give me trouble, I'm wearing my uniform." He was rapidly approaching a car on the side of the road, it's hazard lights on. He kept his eyes on it as it came closer, and felt himself slowly pressing on the breaks, only half-listening as his mother spoke.

"Haven't you heard? It's all over the news. There's some sort of pandemic going on, a 'Green Flu' they're calling it. Apparently it really messes people up, and is spreading across the states. They've even got a solid few cases up here, by the border. Just listen to this list of symptoms," Brain came to a halt behind the car on the side of the road, deciding to at least check if everything was okay. "There's bloating, bleeding eyes, bleeding gums, skin rashes, boils, nausea-"

"Listen mom, can I call you back? Looks like some guy might be in trouble here."

There was a heavy pause from his mother, hundreds of kilometres away.

"Brian, I think you should just keep driving. Get to your sister's place and stay with her a while, okay? I'm worried about you. Both of you."

"Now mom, you know I wouldn't be living up to my name as a Canadian or a Peacekeeper if I just kept driving. I'll be fine. I'll call you when I get to Leanne's, okay?"

"But Brian-"

"Love you mom, say hi to dad for me." He hung up, tossing the phone back into the seat without a second thought. He flipped his visor up, effectively hiding the photo from his veiw as his door popped open. He stepped outside his Civic, leaning on his door. The driver's window on the car ahead was open, so instead of approaching first he called out.

"Hey there! Is everything alright?"

No answer.

Grunting in thought, Brian stepped outside his car and lightly pushed the door closed, heading towards the Ford on the side of the road. As he came around the side of the vehicle, he noticed the insides were slightly dusty, and the windows covered in muddy hand prints. Feeling suspicious, Brian resting a hand absently on the buttof his gun. The noticed the car was without a driver. Instead of investigating further, he turned his attention to the woodland terrain of Mississippi.

"Hello? Is anyone out there?" He called, projecting his voice along the road. Again, no answer. He turned back towards his car, keeping a weary eye on the trees as he headed back for his phone. It was best to report this to the local police. He knew Grenada wasn't far, so that meant authorities weren't far either. Upon reaching his car, however, he heard a distant, gargling cry.

Driven by paranoia, he instantly reached for his revolver, pulling it out of it's holster. With practiced ease, he had it level with his eyes and off of safety in a heartbeat's time. Calmly, he continued to back towards his car, ducking inside to quickly grab his phone, only to return to the alerted position as soon as possible.

With one hand, he dialed the numbers 9-1-1.

Bringing the phone to his ear, he waited as the ringer sounded.

Once.

Twice.

Brian felt himself frown, narrowing his eyes as the angry yell sounded again, closer. It was coming from somewhere in the trees.

Three times.

Four.

"_We're sorry, the number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable. Please hang up and try your call again later."_

Without so much as a second thought, he snapped the phone shut and tossed it back into his car, keeping his eyes on the shadows of the trees. He decided to try not to dwell too long on the oddity of the emergency line being unavailable. He had other things to worry about. A throaty hacking could be heard from somewhere in the trees in front of him. The coughs were loud and long, and judging by the intonation, Brian had to guess it belonged to a guy.

"Hello!" He called out, "sir! I'm with the marines, I can help you! If you're running from something, I'll protect you, but you need to come out into the open!"

Suddenly, a thick rope darted out from behind the trunk of a tree, seeming to wrap itself around his torso. Reacting out of instinct, he lifted his arms as the rope tightened, keeping his arms free. He looked down at the thing with a grimace. It was thick and pink and...slimy. His face twisted with disgust as he realized this thing wasn't a rope. It looked more like a tongue.

He then realized he was being pulled towards the tree by whatever hid behind it. Registering this as a threat, he found his balance and rushed forward, the tongue losing it's tautness as he closed the distance faster than the thing expected. He slammed into the trunk, catching his weight with one hand as his shooting arm shot around the tree, the muzzle of his gun jamming harshly into the flesh of someone's chest.

He felt the rope -_tongue-_tighten around him and he leaned to the side to see what it was pulling at him. He fired instinctively at what he saw, three well-aimed bullets lodging themselves in the heart of the mutated thing in front of him. Almost as soon as he had confirmed that he killed the creature, it erupted into a cloud of smoke.

Breathing in the arcid gas proved to be a mistake. It smelt of decay and diarrhea, burning his throat as it travelled into his lungs. He coughed violently, pushing away from the tree as the tongue fell from his torso, no longer attached to anything that could provide it with motor skills.

His eyes and nose were burning by the time he stumbled back into his car, slamming the door behind him as he continued to hack and wheeze. Something inside him writhed with dread, noting how much his own coughing sounded like the noises that thing had made before it had gone up in smoke. He hoped to god that whatever had created that thing was not settling itself in his lungs at that very moment.

With tears streaming from his eyes from the irritation, he put his car in drive and stepped on the gas, weaving around the abandoned vehicle in front and now doing a solid hundred as he sped towards Grenada.

Leanne would have to wait. He needed to figure out what was going on. What was that thing, where had it come from and why on earth was the _police_ service of Grenada _unavailable?_ The dismal feeling in the pit of his stomach reminded him of his mother's final words before he'd hung up, and reassured him that whatever the answers were to all of his questions, he would not like them.

* * *

At the outskirts of the city, Brian was stopped. Not by another creature, not by a person, but by a barricade. A large wire fence had been put up across the road, lined with similar roadblocks. They were all littered in signs that read "WARNING, KEEP OUT," in big letters. He pulled his car over to the side of the road, stopping just in front of the fence. He'd shut his window some out of caution as he'd driven, leaving it open just a crack to allow his lungs fresh air.

Now, he took deep, even breaths of that fresh air as he reached for his phone. He clicked the side button, noting that it was nearly nine o'clock. The sun was beginning to dip below the skyline of Grenada. But what alarmed him more than the approaching darkness was the little red symbol in the corner of his screen.

No signal.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, he threw his phone over his shoulder and into the back seat. Making sure he had his pistol with him, he stepped out of the car once again. More detailed notices were posted on the fence in front of him, but the print was so small he'd have to approach the sign in order to read it. As he did so, he couldn't help but to notice how eerily quiet the street was. It was as if there wasn't a soul around for miles.

'_Notice: The following area is quarantined as of November 17th, 2009, 8:00 am due to serious cases of Green flu proving to be lethal and highly contagious. All major roads into and out of Grenada are hereby closed until further notice. Visitors to the city are asked to turn around and return home ASAP. Thank you for your cooperation in this matter, and have a great day.'_

The last lines of the notice seemed unfitting and out-of-place on the solemn sign. Brian took a step back, looking up over the fence and scratching at his chin in thought. If this is what Grenada looked like, the marine dreaded to see Jackson. Was Leanne alright? He now assumed it was the Green Flu that produced the creature in the woods, and judging by this notice, there were many more in the city, probably mutated even worse than that man had been.

But since breathing in the man's fumes and driving nearly an hour with it settling in his lungs, he was confident that the Green Flu wasn't an airborne illness. He didn't feel any weaker, or any different, in that hour. He was just praying that he wasn't being too hopeful. He knew some infections could incubate from anywhere from an hour up to three days before taking effect.

His stomach overturned in worry, for himself and his sister, which explained why he jumped in surprise at the loud honking of a horn behind him.

He was suddenly flooded in the bright headlights of a large military vehicle. The familiarity of it eased the feeling of alarm in his chest as he lifted an arm to shield his eyes. Judging by the sheer overpowering roar of machinery, he assumed he wasn't just looking at one military transport, but a whole convoy.

"Sir. Please clear the path." A voiced boomed over a loudspeaker attached to the roof. He clicked his heels together and saluted, before moving out of the way, hoping someone in the convoy would stop and explain things.

The transport barrelled forward, completely running over the metal fence as if it wasn't there. Feeling himself frown again, Brian watched as the armored vehicle lead the way into the city, trucks of soldiers following close behind.

One of the jeeps pulled out of formation, a man in the passenger seat waving to the vehicle behind them to continue as they approached the man on the side of the road. The jeep contained three people, one driving, one in the passenger seat and sitting with his legs hanging off the back. Everyone aside from the driver had their guns trained on him.

"State your name, solider!"

"Corporal Brian leBlanc, sir!"

"Your division?"

Brian paused, unsure how the American army would handle another nation's marine on their soil at a time like this. Thankfully, he didn't have to personally explain his heritage. The man in the driver's seat leaned towards him, narrowing his eyes as he was examined up and down. He felt the eyes linger on the leaf insignia over his heart, and saw the beginnings of a frown tug on the man's lips.

"Canadian," he said in a hushed voice to his passenger. They exchanged a doubting glance, as if the Canadian soldier wasn't standing right there and watching. He turned back to look at the soldier sitting on the back, who shrugged and took a long drag on his cigarette before flicking it away.

"Can you use a gun?" The driver asked.

Brian felt anger bubble in his throat. He was wearing a military uniform, had two inverted chevrons decorating his arms and a revolver sitting in the holster at his hips. _Of course _he could use a gun.

"Can _you?_" He was unable to help the bitter comeback as his hand automatically came to rest on his pistol. The driver saw this, frowned again, then consulted his passenger in a hushed whisper. After only a moment or two of talking, the man turned his attention back to the Canadian.

"We can use an extra shot. Hop on the back with Tom, he'll fix you up."

Grumbling about American ignorance, Brian did as he was told. He pulled himself up into the back of the jeep. The driver barely waited for him, already speeding off to catch up and get back in line before Brian had gotten properly situated. He had to cling to the side not to go flying out the back. When he believed himself to be slipping, he cried out in alarm. A pair of strong hangs pulled him up a little further into the jeep, holding firmly to his arm until he could situate himself safely in the back

"Thanks," he breathed, patting his chest as if to tell his aching heart '_we made it.'_

"No problem."

Tom was a thin man. He had a long face with large, innocent green eyes. He clutched tightly to his assault rifle, and Brian didn't miss the way the male's hands quivered ever so slightly. After determining that the kid couldn't have been too much older than twenty and had a single inverted chevron on his arm, the Canadian could understand why.

"Tom, right?"

Tom nodded.

"Is Grenada your hometown?"

"Yeah...it was..." The underlying bitter tone in the young man's voice made Brian frown sympathetically. The kid was gazing out of the side of the truck with a hurt look on his face. The buildings they passed looked like they had been abandoned for years, not hours. Windows and doors were blocked off, broken, and the glow of fire seemed to embrace every occasional structure.

"I'm sorry, man."

"It's alright. I just gotta do what I can to protect what's left of it." With that, Tom pushed a heavy metal box from behind him over towards the Canadian soldier. "Here, pick your poison."

The box which looked more like a tipped locker, was filled with guns, a pile of many different kinds of ammunition littering compartment to one side. Brian carefully picked through the weapons, picking one up and feeling the weight in his hands before putting it back. Finally, he settled on one of the longer weapons, it's thin barrel stretching away from the body of the weapon.

"A sniper?"

"You bet." Brian grabbed as many extra clips as he could find, stashing them in the multiple pockets all over his uniform. "I'd much rather have to use one well-placed bullet on one target than several badly aimed ones." He clicked the weapon off of safety, lifting the scope level with his eye.

"You any good with it?

The Canadian responded by firing, the solid 'tang' of a bullet hitting a stop sign they'd passed and wordlessly answering the private's question.

"I get by."

"Oi, Kanuck!" The man sitting shotgun shot a glare over his shoulder at their temporary recruit. "Don't waste ammo, we're approaching a hot zone." The brute turned his attention back to the road with a frown. Brian looked to the seemingly far friendlier Tom for answers.

"A hot zone?" He echoed.

"It's an area of the city where there's been confirmed sightings of large bodies of infected."

"So, sick people?"

"Zombies," Tom corrected, "they're zombies. Mindless, pain-ignorant things that run around trying to rip anything they can into bloody shreds."

For a moment, Brian had to swallow the chuckles that tried to spill out from his throat. Any other day, he would've readily laughed at that remark. Zombies weren't real. They were an item of science fiction, things geeks and teenagers indulged in to pass the time. But considering the solemn silence of the two sitting ahead of them, the pure presence of such a heavily armed military force and the creature he'd encountered on the road...none of it seemed so laughable anymore.

"So, Zombies exist?"

"Seems that way."

"How'd it start?" At the Canadian's question, the boy put his gun on his lap and leant down on his knees, staring absently into the ground as it shot out from underneath them. Their pace had slowed since entering the 'hot zone,' but it was still quite fast for a convoy.

"No one's really sure. It started out as just the flu, and then it evolved into the 'Green Flu,' some super-virus that turned people into angry, violent and bloodthirsty monsters. It spread really fast, but the violence part only kicked in just recently, like someone flipped a massive biological switch." Tom fiddled with his gun in his hand, eyes refusing to meet those of the man beside him. "In a matter of hours, cities turned into chaotic warzones...people attacking each other, fires breaking out all over, blood flooding the streets. Families, torn apart..." Though he tried to hide it, Brian didn't miss the shiver that travelled through the boy's body. He felt compelled to reach over and pat the kid on the shoulder with a small sigh.

"Sorry."

"They got my ma..." he said quietly, head lowering further. "I-I...she just called me in the middle of it all...tellin' me how much she loved me, and that she could hear angry people at the door...an' that she didn't think she wuz gonna be okay..." The Canadian watched in a humbled silence as the kid broke apart in front of him. That tamed grammar fell into accented pieces, revealing a rural heritage in his voice. Brian squeezed Tom's shoulder, trying to be comforting as he watched the tears streaming down his face. "An' she told me, 'be stong, Thomas, 'n get through this fer the both of us,' and 'I'm so goddamned proud of you, boy, so proud. Couldn't've asked fer a better son..."

Tom's rifle clattered to his side, and there was little more Brian could do but watch the grown man crumble into fragments, holding his head and desperately fighting the instinct to sob loudly. The Canadian felt harsh eyes in his back, turning to glare at the ridiculous stare the brute in the passenger seat was giving the boy. Instead of scolding the Sergeant, he turned back to the kid and patted his back.

"Hey, kiddo, be strong," he repeated the kid's words with the idea that they'd get the young man's attention. He was correct, as Tom wiped hurriedly at his tears and looked up at him, expecting more. "That uniform you're wearing? It says you're tough and you're dependable. Thousands of people in this country and probably others are looking to people like you for support. They've probably lost family, friends and home to this disease." The facts tasted odd on his tongue, like he'd yet to come accept these terms himself. "And they're looking to someone strong to help them. You're that someone, private, you're part of the 'something' that's going to put a stop to all this, right?"

Tom gave a small nod, looking more like a frightened child than ever before.

"So pull yourself together, soldier, you've got a world to save."

Nodding further, he continued to wipe at his eyes with his sleeves. Gradually, he reached for his assault rifle, bringing it close once more. It was almost as if grabbing his rifle had reversed the transformation of a soldier into a frightened kid. He seemed dutiful and focused now, if only because he felt he had to be. His knuckles went white from gripping the metal so tightly.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, having gained control over the southern accent his tone had overtaken. His army training had clearly ironed out the grammatical wrinkles in the boy's speech, and now he'd returned to it. He still carried a slight southern ring, but his words were complete, his sentences slow. "I didn't mean to break apart like that, I-"

"Hey," Brian interrupted, "you're only human. Don't apologize."

"Alright..." He paused, the look on his face indicating that he'd almost gone to apologize again. "Okay..." There was a silence that stretched out between the two, only interrupted by the clanging of the jeep hitting bumps in the road, and the mutters of the two behind them by the wheel. "Have you lost anyone to this thing?" Tom asked quietly, all but hugging his rifle to his chest. "I mean, I know you're from Canada and all, and I don't know if the flu hit there yet, but...I was just wondering..."

"Yeah, the flu's in Canada." Brain rubbed absently at his chin, tapping the toe of his boot with the muzzle of his sniper. "Someone called to tell me about it just before I got into Grenada. But I don't know if I've lost anyone yet..." He noticed the boy's blank stare, having a feeling Tom now thought his motivational speech had just been him spewing bullshit to comfort a child. He heaved a sigh and ran his hand through his hair. "Tell me, what do you know about Jackson?"

"The city?"

"Yeah."

"Gone." Brian's heart skipped a beat, his breath hitched in his throat.

"Gone?" He echoed uncertainly.

"Yeah. It's a pretty big city with lots of people. It was one of the first cities to go. The whole place is chaos. Even the military has slowed it's evacs to that area."

"I see." The Canadian fell silent, and it was his turn to stare blankly into the blurring concrete. He made no effort to hide his disappointment.

"So I guess you know if you lost someone now..."

"My sister. I hadn't heard from her in years. I drove all the way from Milton to see her, I was going to surprise her, uniform and everything. She lived in Jackson, but if it's pretty much gone..." He trailed off, covering his mouth with a large hand and hardening his gaze into a harsh glare.

"Well, if it's any help, the last large-scale evac is in New Orleans. Everyone from the surrounding area is heading in that direction. If she made it out, she's probably there."

Heaving another sigh, Brian straightened out at the news. At least he now knew where he was going.

"Knowing my sister, she would be."

* * *

The convoy had slowed greatly as they passed through the heart of the city, practically crawling down the main road. Lights were dimmed as to not attract too much attention, but the flash of lights off of soldier's guns occasionally lit up a wall or car. Few gunshots rang out, and over the past hour or so, Brian had yet to see much of a 'Horde'. Sure, there was the occaisonal pale person wandering about in the streets, but they looked more sick and lost than bloodthirsty and murderous. Which is why he'd yet to fire a single shot. I just didn't feel right, shooting at sick people. It was almost like shooting an elderly man and excusing yourself by saying you were 'putting him out of his misery.'

Eventually, the brute in the passenger seat had noticed this, and begun to pick on Brian relentlessly.

"Oi, Kanuck, they teach you to shoot in the Canadian Army?" He chided.

"Shut up, Smith." Tom growled over his shoulder, but the private didn't get much respect.

"Wasn't talking to you, rookie," Smith sneered, gun firing a few bullets into the skull of a shrieking woman running up to the side of the jeep. "But it 'aint surprisin', them Canadians are pretty good at hiding behind stronger people from stronger nations."

Brian heaved a sigh, choosing not to respond to the jibes. Instead, he lifted his rifle and pretended to take aim, though he found nothing to shoot. It seemed as if the infected had wisened up and stayed away from the soft light of the convoy. Slowly, he lowered his sniper once more. In fact, it seemed almost silent in the city, aside from the low rumble of the convoy as it gradually progressed down the main road.

Then, in the distance, a high pitched wailing. All heads turned to face forwards, the sound coming from somewhere down the road.

"Is that siren?" Thomas asked, turning to Brain as if he already knew. The Canadian shrugged.

"Sounds like one," he said, adjusting himself so that he could see what was coming down the road. As the parade of military vehicles 'rounded the bend, flashes illuminated the sides of the dark buildings on either side the of road. Waves upon waves of people dashed blindly towards a police car that was sitting on the side of the road. The lights flashed and the siren blared, drawing almost everyone out of hiding and towards the intrusion of the silence.

Someone's voice buzzed on the radio ahead, and then suddenly they were turning.

"What, what the hell? Why isn't anyone shooting?" This time, Brian lifted his gun and took aim. "If the sirens are going off, that probably means someone set them off. There's someone in that car!"

The muzzle of his rifle was dipped down as the jeep turned right, following the rest of the convoy. Tom's hand was on the barrel of the sniper, but it was Smith who spoke.

"Orders say we're to leave them. If they're all in one spot, they'll be easier to hit with a bomb."

"But there might be someone inside!"

"So? It's just one person."

Brian turned and stared at Smith, hard. Sure, it was one person. But it was also one person they had the chance to help! All they'd done from the moment he got on that stupid truck was shoot at sick people. Now they had an opportunity to save someone else, and they were going to leave it for the bombs? The Canadian ripped his rifle out of the private's hands, lifting to aim once more. Taking a breath in, he lifted the scope to his eyes again and took aim at one of the infected climbing on top of the cop car, getting progressively farther away as the jeep moved.

Regardless of the distance he took a slow breath in an positioned the crosshairs in his scope to the man's head.

_A single shot rang out._

The man's head seemed to explode with blood, and he clattered in a mess to the ground. Smith turned around and yelled something to Brian, using that annoying nickname that didn't incline the Canadian to pay much more attention. He scooted to the end of the jeep, letting his feet dangle over the edge for a moment, staring at the ground below. It wasn't too fast. He could do this.

"Wait!" Tom grabbed his arm quickly, a pleading look in his eyes as the older male turned towards him. Meeting each others gaze, the private came to understand what was going through the corporal's head. He shut his mouth, reached behind him and stuck a little gray object in his hands. "Take this. It'll thin the numbers. Throw it away from the car, out into the open."

A pipe bomb.

"You don't even know for sure if anyone's in there!" Smith called, turned completely around in his seat.

Brian ignored the man, instead meeting Tom's gaze once more and nodded, tightening his grip on both the object in his hand and the rifle in his other. With a final 'thanks', he jumped off the back of the truck, awkwardly jogging out of the way of the next vehicle as his legs tried to carry on his forward moving momentum. When he found his balance, he ran against the direction of the convoy, ignoring the stares from the soldiers as he approached the main artery once more.

The crowd of people had only seemed to grow, the light almost buried in moving bodies and the sound muffled by layers of flesh. In a swift motion, he flipped the switch on the bomb and lit the fuse. He called, projecting his voice loudly across the street to the mob of people.

"Hey, over here!" He waved his arms above the head, grabbing the attention of a large portion of the crowd. They began to charge towards him, gnashing their teeth and snarling, eyes flashing yellow in the light mounted on his gun. He flung the pipe bomb away, off to his left. The shrill beeping from the bomb managed to steer the stampede away from him. Without pausing to see the outcome of the device, he lifted his scope to his eyes and began to advance slowly, taking a couple shots for every step he took.

One by one, the infected began to die away from a mob to a crowd to a group. A resounding crash from his left told him the bomb had gone off, and likely taking it's surroundings with it. The lights and noise from the car had died away, and there was only a muffled screaming from from inside. When the last of the surrounding creatures had been disposed of, the soldier crossed the rest of the distance in a sprint. He slammed into the side of the car, earning a panicked thump in response from the other side as the screaming got louder. Fearing the worst, he wrenched open the door, only to find the muzzle of a revolver pointed directly between his eyes. The screaming had stopped.

Slowly, he backed up, allowing the weilder of the weapon to shakily climb out, never letting that gun stray too far away from his face. What met his gaze surprised him.

The revolting stench of sweat and blood wafted out from the cop car. Inside, he could see the bloodied corpse of another person sprawled between the two front seats. It looked to be a girl, her face covered in blood from repeated blows, dark hair in messy clumps and pale eyes wide, staring blankly in his direction.

"_¡Su nombre!" _His blue eyes darted to the girl holding the weapon. She was tall and thin, dressed in what looked to be a private school uniform, with a high-waist skirt and a blouse, only the outfit was torn in places and bloody in others. Her dark skin was marked with nicks and bruises, blood that he doubted was her own covering her arms and a bit of her knees. A shaky arm held a black pistol level with his face. Her own was streaked with tears, painting her face black down to her chin from running makeup. Her hair was wild, sticking out in all directions and matted down with an unknown substance in others.

In his confusion, he wasn't able to respond as quickly as she would've liked. He kept his hands in the air (though refusing to drop his gun) as she stepped towards him, furrowing her eyebrows again and yelling.

"_¡Diga algo! ¡Dígame su nombre!" _A pause, then; _"¡Le tiraré!"_

"Brian," he said quickly, not really sure if that's what she was saying, "my name is Brian, and I'm with the army."

Slowly, she lowered her gun. That hostile expression, however, stayed firmly in place. Even though the immediate threat was gone, the Canadian kept his hands in the air, to be safe.

"My name is Brian," he repeated, slower, "do you understand English?"

She visibly pressed her lips together and nodded quickly

"Are you hurt?" His eyes darted to the duct tape wrapped around her left leg.

She shook her head.

"Are you alone?" At this, she stared blankly at him. Unsure if she'd understood, he tried repeating himself, rewording his sentance. Anything really, just to get a human reaction from the vacant-looking girl. "Is there anyone else with you? Are you alone?"

Silence.

"Um...Miss? Are there others?"

Again, she shook her head, bottom lip trembling as her eyes began to water. She looked so lost and scared and alone. She couldn't have been much older than Thomas, and judging by her uniform: was still in school. All things considered, despite the crimson that stained her figure and the gun in her hands, she was just a kid. So, possessed by a friendliness he was bred into, he did something that was so terribly unsuiting for the situation they were in.

He smiled.

Suddenly, the girl charged at him. She was moving too fast and was too close for him to pull down his gun and take aim for a shot. Her small body hit his firmly, but he felt no punches or bites. The girl wrapped her arms around him, holding onto him tightly, fingers gripping the back of his uniform as she tried to pull herself closer to him. He could hear her sobbing loudly, feel a damp warmth in the center of his chest. She was clinging to him and crying.

Falling back on nurturing emotions, he let his own arms curl around the young girl, returning the hug as she sobbed herself to silence.

After a while of standing in the middle of the street, feeling a sensation of awkwardness begin to overwhelm him, she shakily eased her grip, falling away from him as she took a step back. She wiped at her eyes, took a ragged breath in and held it. He let her sort herself out as she stood, her head buried in her hands as she clumsily dried her tears.

"I'm s-sorry," she said in a voice that was plagued very little by a foreign accent. Her english was clearly far better than she'd initially let on. "I j-just...I thought I was going to..."

"It's alright, I understand."

"Thank you..." her voice was so quiet, Brian wasn't sure he'd heard her at first. "Thank you so very much for helping me..."

"Don't worry about it. I think in times like this, it's best to try and help as many people as you can." As the honest words tumbled from his lips, the girl was nodding. She managed to force a weak smile, looking up at him with puffy red eyes.

"My name is Anna"

"Hi, Anna." Brian's automatic response earned a chuckle from the teenager. At this time, she looked him up and down, taking in his relatively clean uniform, messy black hair and the leaf sewn into his shirt just over his heart.

"You're not with the American army, are you?"

"No ma'am. I'm with the Peacekeepers. Canadian division."

She gave him a look.

"Then what on earth are you doing in Grenada, alone?"

Unsure how to respond, he let silence hang uncomfortably in the air for a moment. He felt his gaze drop, and he shifted so he gripped his weapon in both hands.

"I was visiting a relative."

"...I see." She seemed to understand, nodding slowly as she brought her own pistol close to her heart. Judging by her pained expression, Brian guessed the girl had suffered just as much, if not more of a loss than he had. "Well, Brian, may I ask what you planned to do next?"

"I'm heading to New Orleans." The words were out in the open before the man had given them much thought. In hindsight, he supposed it really didn't matter if he'd thought about them or not. They'd been spoken from his heart. His heart wanted him in New Orleans, following the chance of seeing his sister, alive and well after all this and all this time. So, that was where he was going to go. Even though now that he'd left the convoy in a rush to save this 'Anna,' getting there would be much easier. "I've been told that's where all the last major evac stations are."

"May I come?"

"Of course." The exchange had been so honest and brief, Brian barely had time to consider the bizzarity of agreeing to the prolonged company of a complete stranger. Instead of dwelling on these thoughts, he turned his attention to the girl's weapon, wondering what kind of experience she had with it, and what kind of damage she could do. With a smile, his answer came to him in a simple detail she'd overlooked. Slowly, he reached down and took the pistol from her shaking hands.

The gun emitted a small click from his smooth grasp.

"This will be a lot more useful with the safety off."

Anna's face darkened with shame, something sparkling in her eyes for just a moment.

"Must've been god's will..." she mumbled absently to herself. Brian decided not to pry further into the meaning of her words. Instead, he took a breath in and began to walk down the road. Anna stared at her gun hard for moments longer, before walking quickly to make up for the distance she'd lost. Soon, they were walking side by side down the highway. Not a word was exchanged between the two of them as they moved. What could they say that wouldn't sound odd in such a situation?

So, without words they moved. United, they watched the shadows and listened for intrusive noises. No matter what they faced now, they were no longer alone. They stood more of a chance standing together. New Orleans was only a distant objective, the odds of reaching it slim to none. But it was something to shoot for, something in this otherwise depressing city to hope for. A light in the dark.

At least together, they'd stand more of a chance of being able to reach it.

* * *

Somewhere in the distance, someone screamed into the night.

His vocal chords ached from yelling over the snarls of those around him. His arms were weak from swinging a heavy pipe wrench about like a baseball bat. He could feel blow after blow of his enemies sink into his flesh, burning into his skin like hot iron. Fire was everywhere, blinding him, the smoke suffocated him. Bodies of his comrades littered the pavement, vehicles slowly roasted around him, ticking time bombs to his swift demise.

_'M sorry, ma',_his uniform felt heavy on his body, his gun useless in his aching hands. Where had they all come from? What had attracted them? Why hadn't they been able to resist? They had men, weapons and armor...yet still they'd fallen. They'd fallen beneath the hulking form of a crazed, mutated individual that had flipped one of their jeeps like a Sunday morning pancake. Now, the creature stampeded about, roaring and snarling as it moved from person to person to drive their corpses deeper into the concrete.

_'I've gone 'n messed up real bad.' _The private could do nothing more but sniffle, voice raw from shouting for help that would never come. He curled into a ball, feeling the individual blows from the fists of those around him blend into one continuous hurt. Darkness began to seep into his vision, a heavy fog clawing it's way through his brain as blood seeped from open wounds.

_'Bu' I'll be home soon, 'ma.'_

As the last of the light faded from his vision, he could only whisper quietly into the wind

"...'m so proud...so proud..."

And from somewhere above, a bitter response, spoken in prejudice hatred by an angry, betrayed spectator who'd done nothing to help those below.

In fact, he'd summoned the beast himself.

"Serves the bastards right."

* * *

**Beepbeep. This makes two. Less satisfied with this one than the last. But eh, I'll make it up to myself. Thank you to those who reviewed, and to those who alerted this, please drop in and say hi, I'd love you hear what you think.**

**Thanks for reading, now review!**

**Toodles,**

**Shmee**


	3. Luka

**The third of five parts. Contains OCs**

**Disclaimer: This is fanfiction. Therefore, all fanworks on here are of the fictional variety. Left 4 dead is not mine. If it was, Ellis would be shirtless.**

**All. ****The. ****Time.**

**Pants are occaisonal.**

* * *

He sat snidely above the carnage like a greedy king overlooking his kingdom.

What had formerly been an impressive military convoy was now a sea of fire, flesh and blood. A few weak screams still called up to the rooftops in vain, soon to be silenced by the infected they unintentionally attracted. In particular: the largest of the infected who lumbered around, a soul lost without more blood to spill. He would turn his head and snarl loudly at an offender who raised his voice in agony. That growling would quickly silence the soon-to-be-dead-anyways voice, lest they attract a beast that would bring with him an even more painful end.

Luka watched this tragedy he'd caused with no shame. In fact, a devilish smirk had asserted itself on his features. A pale blue gaze surveyed the rubble from his vantage point atop a small office building. A shotgun balanced itself on his lap as he sat, legs dangling over the side of the roof. On an ordinary day, he actually wouldn't have looked out of place. A blue construction helmet rested atop his head, the floodlight secured to the front turned off for safety's sake. A pair of faded work jeans were worn on his legs, as well as a rain-proof jacket that would've been a bright orange, had it not been so drenched in blood, grime and dirt.

A construction worker atop a mildly ratty-looking building wouldn't have seemed out-of-place at all. But in this situation, with so many of his fellow humankind in such suffering below, it seemed to be the most bizarre thing, which was substantial considering the day's events.

The most peculiar thing about the tough-looking man sitting so proudly above the streets was his choice in jewelry, for a small silver whistle hung from a long chain around his neck.

This whistle seemed so small and insignificant, that it was a puzzle as to why a man of Luka's profession and build would wear such a fragile-looking thing. In all honesty, its reason for being there was selfish and twisted. While others had turned to fear and panic at the outbreak of a violent sickness, the sly worker had used the entire ordeal to his advantage. Robbing people blind was easy when they were too busy dodging zombies. Taking revenge on enemies was simple when the blame could be thrown on the infected. He was convinced the flu couldn't last forever and that it was only a matter of time before he found use for the massive amounts of money he'd stolen, and the deeds to land he'd taken off of corpses. As long as he remained careful and in control, he would only reap the best from this catastrophe, he was sure of it.

The odds were in his favour.

Which is why he'd taken the chance to try a new technique, testing the power behind his crazy plotting with the convoy. He'd never liked nor respected the military, and upon seeing that rough-and-tough convoy pulling a stealthy getaway through the city streets, Luka had been unable to resist the chance to punish them for their failures as saviors. If people like them had done their jobs right, people like him would not still be around to pull such dastardly stunts.

With the convoy soon to be recent history, his time for games had come to an end. He'd stolen what he'd wanted, murdered who he'd needed and punished who he saw fit to die. Now he was forced to turn to a far more important matter: Survival. His ability to summon the Horde and whatever else had the luck to be nearby had a large downside: he needed to either fight or sneak his way through the crowd he'd summoned in order to move on.

But it's not like he wasn't prepared. He was _always_ prepared.

Twisting his torso, he reached behind him and pull a few cans from the pile of gas a little ways towards him, the remainder spilling towards him in dis-balance. He began to launch the cans over the side, dropping them to the ground below. Some of them bounced away from their intended spot of landing, but by the time the man had dropped the last one, they formed an akward ring of red squares below. Infected wandered absently between them, the largest of their kind busy pounding his fists into an unfortunate soldier who'd wailed a tad too loud.

Luka pulled a pipe bomb from his jacket pocket, pressed the button and lit the fuse, then dropped it into the crowd below. The beeping was almost lost within the angered shrieks and inhuman screams, but the little device got the last laugh as it unleashed its true power in the form of a devastating explosion moments after it hit the ground.

The explosion managed to spark a reaction in a nearby gas can, for it erupted into flames and began to consume the area as infected poured from their hiding places in nearby alleys and buildings to destroy the source of the disturbance. One by one, each can was consumed with the heat, lighting up into its own brilliant display of fire before continuing the chain. Within the pool of concentrated gas fire, the bodies of the sick and dying were burnt to blackness.

All but one.

The brute of the infected roared in anger, turning it's jaw-less face upwards to where he assumed the mastermind of this destruction sat. Sure enough, he spotted the human sitting not too far up that wall. With fire licking at his back and settling into his mutated flesh, the Tank snarled and launched himself at the wall, using his massive two arms to pull himself as fast as he could up the side of the building. Stories were scaled in seconds, and soon the beast could clearly see the smug face of the culprit. What little sanity that remained in his ravaged mind loathed the look of contempt on the man's face for a reason other than blind hatred.

However, the fire had long since found his arms, digging its painful fangs deep into tendons and muscle. His upper body seized up, his malfunctioning organs finally breaking down in the heat and smoke as they melted into a gooey mess within his exterior. With a final, gurgling roar, the beast let go of the wall and submitted to the pull of gravity like a falling star.

In his past life, he'd been a firefighter. A hero, saving people from the very thing that now licked eagerly at his corpse. In some twisted way, one could argue he was only doing what he'd ever done, trying to save his own kind from a greater threat.

This 'threat' still sat smugly on the rooftop, that wicked expression fixed on the charred remains of both infected and immune below.

"Mission accomplished," he grumbled to himself, voice admittedly hoarse from the overwhelming stench of burnt flesh. He wiped absently at his nose with the back of his hand, pushing himself to his feet. The young worker hooked his thumb around his shotgun, grabbing his beer in his free hand as he progressed back to the ground floor with such a swagger one would think he owned the city.

* * *

Luka met little resistance as he progressed at an admiral pace through the city. He was a fit man, his line of work requiring much physical labour day-to-day. So, a brisk speed-walk over long distances was not difficult, even if the alcohol in his system caused an occasional stumble and a random giggle at something hardly considered funny at all.

For example, the blonde had errupted into a low chuckle upon gingerly stepping over the body of a thin woman, whose arms curled protectively around the rotting corpse of a young boy.

Thunder rolled across the black ceiling of clouded night sky, as if God were responding to the man's insensitive laughter. No lightning lit up the sky, hinting that the heart of the storm was many miles away, and only visible from a place that wasn't so drowned in smoke. Eventually, the sky did open up in the sense that it let a torrent of rain rush to the ground, quickly drenching everything in a matter of seconds.

However, Luka was not a man to be caught off guard, even by nature. Upon hearing the roars of distant thunder, he'd found himself shelter. This time, it was in a car that was pulled over on the side of the road. The beat up Ford Escort had originally been host to a foul-smelling corpse, one the worker had unceremoniously thrown out onto the street upon discovering it in the back seat. He sat, warm and relatively dry, rain tapping eagerly at the roof and windows.

The young man took the time to think, planning out his next route. Where was he going to go? How was he going to get there? How long would it take?

In all his twenty-seven years of living, Luka had always been smarter than he initially let on. He feigned innocence and the occasional closed-mindedness to worm his way into people's hearts, slowly revealing a deeper side as the occaison called for it. His false personality made him many friends in high places, securing him a good job with good pay, and ties to people all over the city who could set him up with anything he pleased. Money, drugs, women, all were willing to be thrown at a seemingly harmless kid stumbling his way through life that was just looking for a good time. Most of the time, entertainment really was all he was looking for. But there were instances where his sucking-up had been for a greater cause.

But when the Green Flu had pounced on Grenada with the eagerness of a playful kitten, Luka found himself able to drop some of the facade. His bitter nature began to bleed through. He took advantage of the lack of a strong society. He stole what he could from work and those who'd warmed up to his 'boyish' nature, who had made the mistake to believe him trustworthy. When the infection's full effect began to show, he'd quickly secured himself a gun and took great pleasure in introducing it's contents to an unsuspecting face. Whether or not the victim had actually been infected was unimportant.

They were dead now anyways.

After rummaging through the glove compartment in hopes to find something of use, Luka brought his mind back to the present, and his next actions. He'd heard from a reliable source (one who'd nervously spilled everything he knew down the barrel of the man's shotgun) that New Orleans was one of the last cities still running evacuations. It really wasn't that far, just through Jackson and down the road. He could take this car as far as he could, then continue until he found another method of transportation. He was sure there were a few kindly suckers in helicopters or trucks looking to help whoever they could.

Chuckling again to himself and taking a deep breath to swallow the beginnings of hiccups, Luka started the car. He pleasantly watched the fuel needle slowly move it's way to half a tank. Good enough to get him started.

He took off down the street, being slightly gentle with the car by not accelerating too fast – if only for the fact that he needed it to last him as long as possible. When he'd reached a comfortable speed, he began to fiddle with the radio. Mildly disappointed to find little more than looped evacuation messages, Luka eventually gave up on finding a good, 'I'm driving through the apocalypse' song. Instead, he drove along in a bitter silence as he stared absently through the windshield, ignorant to the patters of rain against its surface.

He'd only been driving for a solid ten minutes when he spotted life. Acutal life, at that, not just the movement of an animated corpse he'd made a game out of running over. (He'd reached about 35 points, with 5 points per zombie.) Just up the road were two shapes. They were obviously people, walking with such a purpose in the same direction he was driving, that even from a distance he hadn't a doubt they were healthy. As he neared them, his speculations were only confirmed.

He slowed significantly, tires splashing in the large puddles that had developed in the rain. On the left, a man walked with a sniper slung over his shoulder. He wore army pants and a black shirt that clung to his frame from the rain water. Short black hair was darkened significantly, plastered to his skull, though otherwise he seemed oblivious to the downpour. He walked proud - back straight, chest puffed out, head high, as if the dismal weather and even more dismal situation had given him a purpose.

His companion beside him showed far less pride in her movements. She was hunched over, head low and draped in the camouflage jacket Luka believed to belong to the man. Her long brown hair was pin straight and drenched. As the blonde pulled up alongside them and rolled his window down, he could see the girl had tan skin, a decent frame and was shivering madly.

Making no effort to conceal his intentions, he leaned out the window, whistling loudly to get their attention. They both jumped, the girl letting out a yelp as the man pointed his sniper at the driver of the vehicle who'd stopped along with them. They looked alarmed for only a moment longer, until they realized that the new company was not (as far as they were concerned) an immediate threat.

"Why hello there!" Luka called loudly, his tone friendly despite his lecherous grin.

The girl looked up towards her companion nervously, before shuffling backwards a little. Ever so slightly, she slipped behind him, wide brown eyes swimming with a mixture of fatigue and fear.

The man, however, was far less intimidated. He slowly lowered his gun, pretending not to notice as his young companion retreated behind him. He didn't smile as he returned the greeting, not liking the newcomer's tone of voice.

"Hey there," he said, tone far more reasonable a volume. They weren't too far away from each other, and they had each others attention. There was no need to shout. "It's nice to see another friendly face out here."

"I'll say, your little friend is definately a sight for sore eyes." Luka was straight to the point, wicked grin stretched out over his blunt features. He'd had his fun with the infected already, it was time to mess with those a little less pale and a little more sane. Plus, the alcohol in his system made it seem far more entertaining than driving by them in silence.

"Excuse me?" Said the soldier, taking offense in place of his cowering companion.

"You heard me. C'mon, zombie apocalypse and you're wandering around with _that?_ She might as well be the last woman on earth. You hittin' it?"

Luka received a hard stare for quite a while. Eventually, the soldier lifted his gun again and pointed it right at the construction worker with a frown.

"Keep moving, sir," his voice had taken on the professionalism that came with his uniform, but Luka wasn't abiding.

"Just askin', a guy-to-guy thing, y'know? Whatsayyou, baby?" He turned his head to one side, smiling cruelly at the girl who peeked out from behind her companion. "Soldier boy putting out enough? Want to go for a ride with me? The back seat is awfully spacious, I'm sure we could have a blast back there."

A heavy silence hung in the air as the girl went red, a frown mirroring that of the older man's appearing on her face. The pattering of rain filled the air for a while longer before the soldier spoke again.

"Sir, I said keep moving. We've dealt with enough monsters today. We don't need one more."

"Monster?" Luka echoed, tone a mockery of offense, "I 'aint no monster, sir, just a human male with needs that should be attended to. Your little friend their looks a bit young, but we can't be too choosey, right?"

At this, the girl furrowed her thin eyebrows and stepped out from behind her shield, still close to his side but standing on her own. She spat in his direction, but her aim was poor and the glob of spit slapped against the door.

"¡Cerdo Americano!" She hissed in a thick accent. Luka's eyebrows arched upwards, his grin stretching impossibly wider, taking a dark twist.

"Oh, she's _Mexican?_" The worker's insensitive sneer was met with equally appalled gazes from both people standing outside his car. He carried on, finding cruel satisfaction in getting an emotional rise out of the pair. "I get it now! One of 'em illegal immigrants you're harboring, eh Soldier boy? Desperate times call for desperate measures, righ'?" He slapped his knee with an obnoxious, heartless laugh. Not quite done with getting a rise out of these strangers, he propped his chin in his hand and spoke directly to the older man with a bittersweet smile on his face. "If it makes you feel any better, I can pay you, 'kay?" There was a pause as the blonde wiped some of the spray of rainwater from his face, "let's see, I got water, food, ammo...We can make a bit of an exchange! Your Mexican broad for-"

He never got to finish, for the girl walked straight up to him, fist soaring through the open window to solidly connect with his nose. He heard a crack echo in his ears and pain shot up through his skull.

"Shit!" He cursed aloud as his hands flew to his nose, cupping it loosely as he felt warm blood slide out from a nostril. "You filthy whore!" Bitterly, he retreated back into his borrowed car, facing the wheel as he cursed over and over, wiping at his bleeding nose: staining his arms and palms with his own blood. Ceaselessly swearing, his left hand went to cover his nostrils with the side of his forefinger, while his right groped for his shotgun in the passenger seat. He lifted it, brought his arm across his body to stick the weapon out the window and point it at the filthy Mexican immigrant with a snarl. "I ought'a blast your god-damned brains out, bitch!"

But his threat was met and responded to with two different pistols pointed in his direction levelled with his eyes and less than two feet away, as well as the tip to an intimidating sniper in his face.

With three guns to his one shotgun, he slowly pulled the weapon back into the shelter of the Ford, though the pair kept their weapons up and ready. The soldier spoke again.

"Sir. I won't ask you again, move along. We don't want your company."

The man's tone made annoyance bubble up in his gut. Sure, he'd been asking for it, but he didn't like being bested. He didn't like to lose. More so, the uniformed officer was adding insult to injury. He could handle being forced away at gunpoint, but being forced away at the gunpoint of a soldier, similar to the ones belonging to the convoy he'd doomed was another thing entirely. The thing that bothered him most of all was the level calmness in the man's voice, despite all the teasing he'd done.

Luka felt as if he was being treated like a trouble making child, being grounded by a level-headed parent who was being frustratingly fair. He pulled his hand away from his nose, not caring for the blood that streamed from it and painted his upper lip. He gave a vicious, inhuman snarl before stepping on the gas, taking off down the street with the squeal of tires.

He didn't get very far.

The shriek of rubber against concrete had almost drowned out the low, throaty cry of a large-armed creature as it slammed into the side of the little Escort with all the force of a truck.

Almost.

He could've sworn he heard a muffled yell come from somewhere behind him right before the shattering impact.

The passenger side window dented violently inwards from the pure force of the blow. With the screech of tires, the car spun out. The hood was squished into the metal guardrail with a resounding crash, one that echoed through the previously silent air. Luka's body, unhindered by the seat belt he'd decided he didn't need, went flying forward and into the windshield with a solid smack.

* * *

Smoke billowed from the hood of the car, something having blown out in the terrible string of events. One side of the car was completely ruined by the Charger's collision. The glass had shattered, colourful glistens of crystals littered in a clear path from the location of the impact to where the vehicle had come to a stop. The force had cracked the windshield, the front of the car smashed in and the windows now fogged up, obscuring the outside world from a glance inside.

But the creature who had caused this damage wasn't quite done. Now he smelled blood, stronger than before, coming from inside that car. He was going to have it, all of it. He was going to choke the life out of the unfortunate soul the metal-machine sheltered, enjoying every sensation of bones breaking in his iron grasp, waiting for the smell and feel of blood to seep from between his thick fingers.

With another roar, he charged straight at the smoking car, smashing into the back of it and driving it event further into the metal of the guardrail. Metal crunched easily under the sheer power of the mutant's charge. Satisfied with the battering-ram beginning, he began to pound his large fist into the trunk of the car, causing the front end to bounce upwards with every strike. His ill-formed, hazy plan was to shake the bleeding body free from the confines of the car, then take it up in the awesome power of his right arm and squeeze from it the results he desired.

* * *

Not too far away, the a pair of humans stood, watching the plume of smoke rise from the wrecked car with a stunned silence. Neither of them ran to help, they both seemed frozen in place.

"He deserved it," the girl said, accent peppering her speech ever so lightly. Her fists clenched angrily around her pistols, though she spoke quietly, voice hushed as if the subject of her words would hear her, "He was a filthy pig, no less of a monster than everyone else." Nodding in stubborn acceptance of her own words she shut her eyes to shut out the sights. She ignored the terrible tug at her heart and the way those selfish thoughts lumped awkwardly in her throat, refusing to leave.

"Maybe, but he was still human," the soldier offered at her side spoke in a tone just as light, staring unblinkingly at the wreckage. Despite the noble implications of his words, he didn't move to assist the man. He remained stone still, standing with his rifle tucked dutifully under his arm, even as the creature who'd attacked the car barrelled across the road to continue its assault.

"Hardly," the girl spat, the two syllables meant to be intoned with far more hatred and finality than they were. Her voice instead had cracked mid-word, breaking into a whisper. Even though they spoke directly to one another, answering each others thoughts with their own, neither of them made a move. They stood, staring, the weight of their options pressing hard on their shoulders. Their heads told them to turn and leave the sinner to his rightfully earned fate. Their hearts screamed at them to be true to the virtues that they were raised in to.

"Alright, so what if he wasn't," with a sigh, the man lowered his gaze, being the first to surrender to his upbringing, shoving the thoughts of his mind aside for the feelings of his heart. Slowly, as if reconsidering his actions with every passing second, he dropped down on one knee. He raised his rifle to eye-level, took in a deep breath and held it.

"We still are."

Exhaling as he fired, the soldier shot three consecutive shots, one after another. He lost sight of the bullets as they disappeared around the creature's head. It cried out in annoyance, not falling as the man had expected. Instead, in a blind and clumsy rage, it turned it's disfigured face towards the pair and began to charge in their direction. The sound of a throaty, enraged roar bounced across the pavement of the road on which they stood. Without a word in exchange, the man lowered his gun and the girl raised hers. She fired both pistols simultaneously and ceaselessly at the approaching beast until it's angry cry turned into one of pain and defeat. Its feet gave out from underneath it and it clattered to the ground, skidding with the weight of it's momentum until it came to a halt just at the girl's feet.

She gave it a testing nudge with her foot, ensuring it did not intend to get back up.

With the beast dead, the triumphant pair exchanged a hesitant glance with one another, before turning their heads towards the ruined little Ford not more than fourtysteps away. Shame seemed to weigh down heavily on both of them as they admittedly began to have second doubts and a terrible hesitance crept into place in the back of their heads.

In the distance, yet far closer than either of them would've liked, a chorus of howls echoed up into the cityscape, announcing a greater horror rapidly on the approach.

* * *

Motion.

The flicker of harsh red light.

A burning pain.

His shoulders and his sides, they hurt. Not nearly as much as his head, though. It pounded, like his brain was attempting to escape the confines of his skull. The effect was nausea, dizziness and an extreme blurr through which he could see nothing.

A tug, his weight was shifting, but not by his own will.

Sobs echoed inside his mind, ricocheying off the barrier of his skull with all the force of a bullet. Someone was crying. Was it him? He didn't know. His throat constricted and moved with sound, but he couldn't hear the noises he felt were being made.

A harsher tug. He could feel a rough fabric slide across his arms, then his weight pulled him down onto a harder, stonier surface.

He heard shrieking, screams that pierced even through the near-deafening sound of blood rushing in his ears.

And gunshots.

* * *

Pain.

It overwhelmed his senses.

His entire body lit with an internal flame. Nerves burned with such a ferocity that his voice projected out of his throat in a rough scream. He thrashed, trying to escape the fire within himself.

Pressure on his arms – then his shoulders.

It made the pain worse.

It felt as if he was being stabbed, clawed, torn to shreds as his limbs were gradually pulled apart, stuck in a vicious, slow pace meant to make him feel the absolute worst before death.

The fire burned hotter – taking his throat in a terrible scorching. It killed the screaming he wasn't even aware was still coming from him.

Then, the fire stopped and slowly subsided.

Instead, the Cold started from his forehead, then slowly tore its claws through his body and dragged him into blackness.

* * *

Motion again.

This time, consistent.

A steady, rhythmic bobbing.

Up,

Down.

Up,

Down.

A distant tapping.

Mumbles of voices.

"Judgement day."

Up,

Down.

Up,

Down.

* * *

Pain again.

A burning fire, making his body perspire so horribly he could feel it even in his numbed state.

It roused him, made him aware of the terrible ache of his body. The heat was almost unbearable. Was this his punishment?

It was persistent, the stabbing in his head and ribs. He could hear distant screams, then silence.

...

A little while later, a slam. Following this, the soft sobs of a woman crying. Painfully familiar. Nostalgia settled itself into his semi-concious state. He could smell alcohol, hear a distant shatter and that terrible, terrible wailing. He wanted to get away from the sound. He tried shifting, his limbs too heavy to cooperate, his eyelids glued shut, unable to open. The sobbing continued, though far softer than he'd thought it been after pausing to calm himself. He listened to it in a forced silence, hearing the cries reduce in volume until he was swallowed by the darkness once again.

_I'm sorry._

His day had come and past, and he'd failed.

* * *

Pain.

Odd. That wasn't right. There was a pattern. Pain, then motion. He'd already felt pain, he wasn't looking to experience more. He still had motion to go through before he was supposed to hurt again.

But this time, the ache was dulled. Blissfully so. He could feel something other than the burn, he could feel cool temperatures under his back, a breeze across his skin. He could feel a specific, harsh ache on the crown of his head, so much more intense then the rest of the pain he felt. But, it was endurable. After everything he'd felt recently, this was almost too good to be true, too numb to be true. It was inexplicable. Could he really die twice? Is that how they were punishing him? Is that how they punished anyone? It seemed a fitting consequence to wrongdoings, the feeling of death repeated until you craved for it in solid actuality.

He let out a groan.

And heard it, loud and clear.

Puzzled at this clarity, his eyebrows drew together, lips turning downwards in a confused frown. This action only served to further fuel his confusion. He could _feel_ that. He could feel the pull and shift of his muscles as they worked to display his emotion on his face.

What if...?

He slowly opened his eyes, vision predictably blurry. Air escaped from his lungs in a typical sigh. No sooner had he begun to think the cycle beginning to repeat itself, did he realize that slowly the blurr was coming back in to focus. He could see a solid colour above him, forming in the center of his vision then branching out, the clarity stretching to his peripherals at last.

Then he saw movement.

Luka blinked a few times, staring blankly up at the ceiling with that frown still etched into his face. He commanded the muscles in his right arm to move, and they did. His hand lifted slowly, reaching upwards towards the gray lid then pausing in front of his eyes. He turned his hand over in front of him, unsure of what he was seeing.

A cruel illusion, or reality?

"Hey, sir?" A soft, quiet voice drilled harshly into his head. He winced and shut his eyes, drawing a sharp breath in through his teeth in a startled gasp. His fist clenched in front of him, but he kept it up. Silence stretched for a few moments, before he finally lowered his arm to drape over his stomach, opening his eyes in time with the relaxed motion.

That voice. It was real. It was clear.

He was actually _alive._

"Whmmmum..." His voice projected out his throat, but tripped over slow, unresponsive lips. He couldn't remember ever feeling this weak.

Hearing a shuffle to his left, he slowly turned his head in that direction, laying eyes on bare, tanned knees. Slowly, his gaze travelled up. Up the thin, tanned and feminine body of a young woman in a school uniform, coming to rest finally on the wide brown eyes of a distantly familiar girl. Chocolate-coloured hair cascaded around her, looking down at him and effectively framing her face. He felt a chuckle rumble internally, noting how a glow behind her seemed to give her a halo of light. The first thing he thought was:

_Angel._

The first thing he said was:

"Mexican."

Only, in actuality, his voice was so slurred and his mouth so unresponsive, it came out sounding more like,

"Meshhicahn"

Those wide eyes narrowed bitterly and the girl sat back, face losing the look of concern and replaced with a look of distaste. He lifted his arm to wipe absently at the corner of his mouth, clearing away the unsightly drool he'd felt lingering there. His throat felt raw and he had to force a swallow

"Good to know you're okay." The girl spoke words of kindness, though her voice betrayed none of this. The tone was cold and curt, and he could easily imagine why. He lay in silence, fighting to clear the cobwebs from his brain as he slowly revived every dormant function in his body. He sucked air into his lungs, flexed his fingers and toes, tensed his muscles and let them ease into relaxation.

He shut his eyes tightly and reopened them, shook his head slowly, rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth and swallowed heavily. He opened his jaws wide, then snapped them shut, repeating this twice before he finally felt in-tune enough with his motor skills to attempt real movement of his own. He slowly began to push himself upright with his arms, surprised to find a dull ache not only in his skull, but in his ribs as well.

"Please be careful, sir." This time, the girl spoke with genuine concern, though there was only a little evident. She was still clearly trying to be cross with his 'Mexican' comments. This time, he felt strong enough to attempt words. Kinder words than he'd spoken in quite a well.

"I dinn't catch yer name, kid," his accent was heavier than usual, his words slower and slurred. But it was better than the barely understandable mumbles he'd been spewing out earlier. The girl eyed him suspiciously, before gracing him with a quiet response.

"Anna, sir."

"Mmkay...'m Luka."

"Excuse me?"

"M'name's Luka."

"Oh. I see...Nice to...meet you, Luka." Instead of returning the greeting, Luka half-turned towards the girl and regarded her with a seriousness that left her unprepared for his next words.

"You Mexican?"

"Spanish," she corrected crossly, thin eyebrows knitting together on her forehead in annoyance, "I'm from Spain, not Mexico."

"Mmkay." Luka paused to steady his breathing, mildly unimpressed with how much effort it took just to sit up and speak.

At least he was alive.

The last thing he remembered was the blurr of colour through his windshield as his borrowed Ford spun out, barrelled aside by an unseen force. Then he could only recall the moments of heat and nauseating motion. He'd honestly thought he'd been banished to hell, forced to suffer an eternity of blurry vision and blinding pain.

With a second thought, he realised he may have escaped _that_ hell, only to awaken in an entirely new one.

They were in a gray room, concrete walls looking solid and littered with a few lines of writing he couldn't be bothered to read. Multiple boxes and a large desk was pushed up against the door, but there were no other exits. A single bulb lamp hung dimly overhead.

"Where are we?" He asked, taking note of the body tucked into the corner of the room. A black-shirted back was turned to him, but he assumed it was the second member of the mini-troupe he'd run into earlier.

"Downtown Grenada. I do not know the district."

"What happened?"

"You crashed. This big thing with one huge arm smashed into your car when you were...leaving. When we caught up to you, you were covered in blood. You'd smashed your head off the windshield and knocked yourself unconscious. That's how you got this," she lifted her hand to let her fingers brush lightly against the right side of his forehead. The touch was gentle, but the pain it brought was sudden and sharp. He withdrew quickly, grunting in distaste. He assumed there was a nasty-looking bruise there. "Brian and I fought off the horde you'd attracted, killed the Charger and decided we couldn't leave you behind. He carried you all along the highway, until we found a safe place to rest here."

Luka's gaze flicked to the body by the wall opposite him. He assumed that was Brian. Brian and Anna. Those were the people he owed his life to, the people he had was indebted to.

He hated being in debt.

Instead of dwelling on this hatred, he frowned further and chose to keep up the forced conversation,

"Charger?" he echoed.

"The big one-arm thing that hit your car."

"You gave it a name?"

"Well, yes...sort of. People have written down all sorts of names for the infected around, trying to warn each other. There's the Jockey, Hunter, Spitter, Smo-"

"Yeah, yeah. A whole posse. I get it," he cut in before she could carry on listing things he wasn't particularly interested in, "your buddy, Brian, he carried me all the way here?"

"On his back, yes. He said you were quite heavy."

Ignoring the smirk accompanying the girl's words, he could now guess that his previous bouts of consciousness that had involved a feeling of motion was the result of Soldier-boy piggybacking him through the city.

Damn

"Is he alright?" The question tumbled from his lips before he could think about it long enough to decide to ignore the fact. The person who'd ferried him halfway across hell was passed out against the wall across the room, unmoving. He was mildly concerned for his well-being, if only because it seemed unthinkable to not be, but he hadn't intended to voice this concern until the question spilled from his brain.

"Just tired," Anna answered, stealing a glance back towards the sleeping solider, "after we got in and secured this place, he just kind of lied down and went to sleep. I stayed up to keep watch."

"Well aren't you just a dear, the dust bunnies won't stand a chance against you." He'd found a way to redeem himself after his earlier slip up, a way to snuff out whatever ounce of caring the girl beleived was in him.

The young woman's face fell at the insulting remark and the degrading tone in which she was addressed. Her response was quick, bitter and meant to deliver the harsh truth.

"Just like _you_ didn't stand a _chance_ against that Charger, right? The one we saved you from and killed?"

"I think you'll find the size difference between a Charger and a Dust bunny to be quite substantial, girly, or did you not realize this?"

Her face twisted into an unimpressed sneer. She gripped her knees tightly, glaring daggers in his direction as he passively rolled his shoulders and yawned. He didn't look nearly as humbled as she had hoped he would've.

"Don't be too crestfallen, sweetheart, I'm sure after a bit more practice against those bunnies with a broom, you'll be well on your way to more satisfying messes. A beer spill, maybe?" A crude grin stretched slowly over his face. "I'm sure all this shooting zombies shit isn't really at a woman's speed anyways, you lot preform your best in the kitchen, after all."

Luka knew she would come to understand eventually. He was insensitive. He didn't really care for much more beyond himself. His own safety, his own security. Everyone else came second, the selfishness just came to him naturally, through a rough upbringing. She could try all she liked to force guilt on him, but it would not be easy.

With a huff, she stood. The blonde didn't exactly know where the girl intended to go. It was a small space, looking more like a large walk-in concrete closet than an actual room. As if realizing this herself, she stood there for a moment longer, gripping anxiously at the hem of her skirt.

He was tempted to point out that at this angle, he had quite the view.

Instead of speaking, he waited. Sure enough, the girl let out a defeated sigh, understanding she couldn't storm off. Instead, she let her disappointed brown gaze fall down on the slowly recovering young man on the ground. Her voice was tinged with sadness, though this did not hide the brutal honesty of her words.

"We should've let you die."

Luka had no doubt in the world that she meant it.

He said nothing as she crossed the small space to the opposite wall, taking a seat beside where Brian's head lay, fixing him with a stare so intense it willed him to lie back down and attempt sleep once more.

* * *

**Blarrggjhghglarggghhj.**

**I'm auditioning to be a Boomer. D'you think they'll take me?**

**Anyways. The third installment. I'm beginning to think there might be more, though there's mildly poor response to this. Thank you to the two of you who are reviewing, though. I can't begin to express how grateful I am for the both of you, dearies :3 Aly doesn't count because I whined to her about it, which prompted her review.**

**So yes, say hello to Luka. He's not a very nice person, kind of an conceited and violent asshole, but hey, let's pray for character growth! Those of you who are clever may be able to peice something together in the Chapters I've given you. Not going to tell you what, though, you'll just have to think up this fun-fact for yourself. **

**Thanks again for reading this far, please please please do leave a review on your thoughts!**

**Au Revior, tout le monde! (I only speak a little french, not a quebecker. Ontarian. Sorry.)**

**Toodles~**

**Shmee.**


	4. Elizabeth

**The fourth of five parts. Contains OCs.**

**Disclaimer: This is fanfiction. Everything on this site is fanwork of fictional variety. Therefore, Left 4 Dead is not mine.**

**If it was, there would be flamethrowers around every corner and chainsaws in every toilet. (It happened once. I'm in love.)**

* * *

Live.

_Come on, old girl, live._

She felt a large, warm hand caress her cheek. Thick fingers ran delicately over her lips, pausing there for a moment before the voice returned, loud and insistent in the confines of her head.

_Get up, Beth, you can do it. Breathe._

On command, she sucked air into her lungs, the oxygen restoring the familiar feeling of warmth in her limbs and delivering a sharp stab of pain to the back of her head. Slowly, feeling a familiar ache settle softly into her bones, she reached up to rub the tender spot. After registering that it was indeed her head that ached the most, she propped her hands beside her and began to push up slowly.

"Alright, I'm up..." She rasped aloud to no one.

She lifted her head, dragging herself to her feet by hooking her arms on the counter above. Tired green eyes took in the scene before her with a frown.

The once sunlight-filled room was a mess. Glass and metal strewn about everywhere, the walls of her building sporting large, open holes from where her merchandise literately flew out the window. Fluorescent lights dangled dangerously from wires attached to the ceiling. She gave the counter bracing her figure another push, straightening out her sore back and renewing the sharp pain in her skull as she whacked her head off something hanging behind her.

Ah, so that's how she wound up on the floor.

The light had disconnected from the ceiling amidst the rumbles and roars of an approaching monster, and knocked her out cold when it smashed into her cranium. She clicked her tongue between her teeth, shaking her head as she leaned heavily on the granite counter. With a disappointed sigh, she accepted that there was nothing to be salvaged in this mess, the only vehicle remaining was half-lodged in a cement well over to her right.

It had once been an impressive showroom of high-quality, stylish cars. The walls were mostly glass to let in light on good days, the lot once filled with less-expensive and more weather-endurant cars to be sold to those a little tighter on cash. Now, only one car remained and it was useless, certainly to her and to anyone else she may have wanted to sell it to.

It had been a quite day before the crowd of people had rushed her building with eager cries. An excited employee had rushed to open the doors, ignorant to the warning shouts of those far more cautious who stood behind the counter. He'd been lost under the fists and feet of the mob as they flooded the building with the rapidity of a bleeding wound. As the crowd had moved to take down the others in the establishment, a distinct rumble had shook the very walls. A distant roar ent shivers down the spines of the survivors, then blackness had seized the elder's vision and driven her to the ground.

Now she stood in the wreckage of what had once been a reliable source of income. Now it was nothing more than an empty, run-down building that supported dust and rubble as its natural resources.

In any other situation, the woman would've brushed off the sight with a sigh and simply shrug. She had others.

But she also had no doubt in the world that any other establishment like this one was just as bad off, if not worse. There would be no further money to be made in the near future. Instead, she was stuck alone in an empty showroom with half a vehicle to her name.

Well...not quite.

If years and years clawing up the ladder as a successful businesswomen had taught her anything, it was to keep the best for herself.

With this in mind, she stretched out her aged, stiff joints as best she could, using the counter for support as she limped her way to the once-white door that read "Staff Only," in bold letters. She turned the knob and pushed her way inside, only to quickly shut it and turn away, pressing her back to the wooden door and holding her breath.

After a moment, she retched in disgust, stomaching heaving but having nothing to spill on the floor.

When the nausea had passed, she straightened herself out and wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand.

Lord, this just complicated things.

Inside was a monster. A creature that had once been human, but now was not. She'd seen one briefly before, it had come dashing into her establishment shrieking at a spine-chilling volume. Now, the creature hunched over another body. She had only barely seen its bloody face, partially obscured by a dark hood as it tore into the poor soul pinned beneath it. She had barely been able to distinguish the corpse as long dead before the sight and stench of decay had driven her to shut the door.

But, she still needed inside. She needed to pass that beast, without suffering a fate similar to that of the unrecognizable body below it.

As she thought, she came to the realization that the sounds of tearing flesh and quiet snarls had died away. Now there came a steady, low growling from the other side of the door. Her heart began to beat painfully fast in her chest, her lungs seeming to expand in panic and press harshly against her ribs. She swallowed a cough, only to regret even bothering as the door against her back shook violently.

A feral snarl passed through the wood, louder this time before the door shook in it's hinges again.

She pushed herself off it, stumbling away as she watched it shake under the weight once more. Breathing heavily, she waited for another thump, mind racing as she tried to imagine what she could do to fight it. The creature lay between her and her only gun.

But the thing didn't seem to be set on giving her too much time to plan. In an unexpected, rapid application of force, the door finally gave out and slammed to the ground. The breeze the fall kicked up dust, debris and ash into the air, obscuring the now open room in a dark haze.

She began to back away slowly.

That growling returned, much louder now that it no longer had to travel through solid wood to reach her ears. Her muscles were tensed to flee when it stopped for a moment, only to be quickly followed by a loud shriek as a dark shape hurtled through the dust and straight at her.

The woman barely had time to weave out of the way, the creature coming in solid contact with the floor, skidding awkwardly across the smooth surface, unable to find grip on its outstretched claws. She seized the opportunity to take off back towards the door, only to find her escape cut off once more by the creature. It had grasped the concept of using the palms of its hands to travel across the smooth floor and propelled itself back in front of the door, cutting off the exit the woman had decided to take.

Without thinking, she turned an ran.

She was not a very fast runner, though she had been in her youth. Her speed in old age, however, paled in comparison to the infection-boosted speed of the much younger beast behind her. However, she hadn't intended to escape, only to get far enough along the wall in order to grab a heavy red object off it's mount.

Her fingers only grazed it, but it was enough. The thing fell unceremoniously out of it's fastening, accompanying both her and the creature that had thrown itself onto her back to the ground.

She barely managed to twist herself around before her back hit the floor. The boy's weight was on her in the next instant. She felt claws digging into her shoulder, pulling harshly. The agonizing sound of _ripping_ flesh motivated her to move. Her stubby fingers curled around the metal handle, just as the clawed fingers of the creature curled around her throat. She could feel the pressure in slow motion as he began to pull, but for once: she was faster.

She brought that fire extinguisher up fast and hard, smacking the creature solidly in the side of the head. It let out a startled yelp and went rolling off her. The woman managed to find her feet just in time to swing the extinguisher once more as the hunter sprang again. This time, she could hear bones crunch under the force of her swing and the thing fell lifeless to the floor.

Panting, cursing, struggling to breathe, the woman barely noticed the burning pain of her shoulder as she staggered back over to the door. She never released her death-grip on the fire extinguisher. At least, not until she'd passed by the rotting corpse of the hunter's previous victim. Not until she stumbled up to a large oak door that stood out against the white walls, a gold nameplate shining still, despite the dismal atmosphere:

_Elizabeth M. Jones._

Her name. Her office.

She punched a code into the keypad below the door and stumbled inside, slamming the heavy door behind her with more force than she believe to still have in her. When she was safe and secure inside the windowless room, she let herself exhale loudly, slumping against the wall as she fell into a sitting position.

She let out a loud moan as the burning in her arm finally reached her head.

Eliza bit her lip to silence herself, only to have whimpers escape from her throat. Motivated by pain, she rose and stumbled to her desk across the room, fumbling quickly inside the drawers. She pulled out a metal case in the very bottom drawer, one labeled with a familiar red mark.

She fished around inside, pulling off her bloody blouse with her good arm as she began to tick off the things she'd need for first aid. For the longest time, she convinced herself not to look at the damage, having a feeling it would be irreversible. But she knew, as she idly rummaged through the contents of the case, that she would have to face the wound for what it was, just as she would for the world.

* * *

At least an hour later, she still sat in her chair. This time, her shoulder was securely bandaged in thick gauze, her blouse having been pulled back over her injury in light of nothing else to wear. Her head was buried in her hands, hair gripped tightly between her fingers as she stared hard into her desk.

In all her years...in all her decades...she'd never faced a challenge so large. Never had she been so scared of what lay outside her office door, of what the next day would bring her. She'd always been curious, but now fear kept her rooted in place. The AK-47 she'd kept under her desk for emergency cases now lay untouched on the surface.

Eliza knew she would eventually have to move, but it was so hard to motivate her muscles to move, to banish that fear from her mind.

Thoughts instantly flew to her daughter and her grandchildren. She had failed to keep in contact with her only child, as they'd fallen out of touch after the death of Eliza's husband. Peter had been the glue keeping their family together, holding tight even as the two ambitious women would butt heads and bicker. It never got serious, as the male of the family would step in and sort out the things that the two hot-headed women were too short-tempered to think about.

When he'd died, the glue had dried out, the bindings had come undone.

Their first fight since his death had been their largest and about something trivial that only seemed to escalate as they continued. The way they resolved the conflict is by separating. Eliza stayed in Grenada, as most of her most successful business chains were located there, while her daughter fled to the coast.

From then, she occasionally got a postcard, a picture and a letter explaining how things were. She'd met both her grandchildren on the day they were each born, but had failed to set up any more in-depth meetings than the semi-annual phone call or video chat.

Regardless, she loved them all dearly. Even that stubborn, hard-headed daughter of hers that was so much like her. She had just been unable to swallow her pride and ask to make amends with her kin. The young family was a heavy presence on her brain as she shook and without realizing it, silently wept at her desk.

When the tears had formed a dark pool on the wood below, she snapped back into reality. She blinked the rest of the moisture from her eyes, tightly clamping her lips together to stop their trembling. She reached for her gun, dragging it towards her with a resolute frown.

She had to keep moving. If not for herself, simply for the peace seeing her young relatives would bring her. In order to see them, she had to move. She had to get to Florida. Orlando. She had to move.

Standing slowly, the woman grabbed her gun and dragged it off the desk as she moved around it. Crossing the room, she paused in the middle, catching her reflection in the mirror off to her right. Aging had been kind to her, but she had never looked so old in her life.

Dark bags circled her eyes, accenting the normally subtle wrinkles that decorated her face. Her normally perfect, snow-white hair was sticking out wildly in all directions. Without thinking, she lifted a hand to smooth it down, only to smear blood into the flawless colour. Cursing her impulse, she sighed, habitually straightening her pink blouse on her torso.

A grim thought told her this would probably be the last time for a long time she would ever look so good.

* * *

The second time he came around, his awakening was far less pleasant than the first. Pain shot up his left arm, not too sharp, but with enough of a stab to make him draw in a sharp breath. Firm hands holding his forearm slackened their grip slightly, only to tighten once again when he tried to pull his limb back towards his body. A low, stern voice cut through the haze of semi-consciousness and commanded his cooperation.

"Quit moving," it asked in a soft tone, though the order rang clear in those words. Just to be nasty, Luka opened his eyes, narrowing them as soon as he could see clearly and giving him arm a harsh tug. Unfortunately, this backfired severely on him. Pain shot through his wrist, that grip refusing to relinquish as something dragged harshly across his forearm. "I tried to warn you."

"Shut up, Soldier Boy, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Luka yanked at his arm again, this time internally grateful that the man siting at his side released him. He stifled a yawn and brought his arm close to his chest, cradling his wrist lightly in a hand to observe what had caused him such sudden pain.

White bandage remained loose around his arm, just barely concealing the scabbed-over appearance of what must've once been a nasty gash. The skin surrounding the closing wound was slick and shone, some sort of ointment having been applied. The soldier watched the blonde examine his arm for a moment, before letting his voice cut into the silence.

"I was trying to help you."

"I don't need your help," Luka's bitter response was met with a level, unreadable stare.

"Of course." The worker listened for sarcasm, a little surprised to hear none. Feeling a little awkward for an inexplicable reason, he began to re-wind the bandage around his arm himself, fastening it down with an unintelligible grumble. He flexed his arm to test the strength and resulting pain, pleased to find that most of the pain earlier had just been from the shock. It didn't actually hurt that much, he was just sore and exhausted.

"Brian, right?" Flicking his blue stare to the soldier at his side, Luka quickly veered the subject far away from the fact that he'd been helped more times than he could count in the past 24 hours, if it had even been that long.

Brian nodded, scooting back a little to give the younger man his space. A frown graced his features for a moment, before he let out another sigh and ran a hand through his dark hair.

"Yeah, Luka."

"How'd you-"

"Anna told me."

"Right." At the mention of the Mexican, (he'd decided that would be her nickname, regardless of her actual heritage) Luka found himself scanning the small room for her petite form. He found it tucked into the corner. She was so tightly curled up into a ball she looked far younger than he knew her to be. Her head was buried somewhere underneath her arms, which tightly clung to the soldier's camouflaged jacket. He didn't miss the way those thin limbs shivered ever so slightly.

Odd. It wasn't cold in here at all. He could feel the stuffiness in the air.

"So, I hear you were the one to drag me halfway across Grenada." Again, Luka applied a force to the conversation, trying to steer it towards things _he _wanted to discuss, and away from subjects _he_ was trying to avoid. He could care less about what Brian wanted to talk about, he just needed to run his mouth, ease himself into the smooth, cunning individual he knew himself to be.

"Drag? Hah, if only it had been that easy. Regardless, it was only a few kilometres or so, not that far." Brian waved a hand dismissively, not realizing the calculative stare he was being given was not a kind one.

"Kilometres?" echoed Luka, something slowly beginning to dawn on him. His eyes carefully scanned what was left of the uniform on the soldier. Unfortunately, his appearance told him little. He was a well-built man, maybe a little smaller than Luka himself but roughly the same height. Short, messy black hair fell in front of sharp blue eyes. With light camouflage cargo pants matching his missing jacket and a pair of dog tags to boot, Luka had to assume his nickname wasn't far from the truth. The build, the uniform and the expert application of limited medical supplies to his arm...Brian definitely seemed to be a soldier, however, the piece of the elder man that would answer his yet-to-be-spoken question was firmly clutched in the girl's arms.

He would just have to be normal and ask.

"You're not American, are you?"

"No sir, I'm not." As if to remind himself, the man lifted a hand to lightly finger his dog tags with a soft smile, giving the floor a distant stare.

Luka rolled his eyes and scoffed.

"I'm gonna take a shot in the dark 'n say you're a Kanuck, right?"

"Canadian, yes." That stare fixed on him, flashing with a bitter look before returning to normal. He clearly expected Luka to say something more. When he didn't, he took in a breath in defense; "Why, do you have a problem with that?"

"No, no, not really. Just wondering."

"Oh," Brain sounded weary, untrusting, "Well...alright."

"'Cause now I can say I've met a mountie!" Luka's expression broke out into a mocking grin, "Though you're lacking in a bright red coat, a horse and I've yet to hear an 'Eh?' out of you yet, so I suppose you're pretty shitty as far as Canadians go."

Brian's frown became evident as he huffed, giving his eyes a roll as Luka had done minutes before.

"First off, I'm a marine, not a mountie. Secondly, if all you know about Canadians is narrow-minded stereotypes, I feel sorry for you."

"Oh sure. I feel sorry for you too, you know? You're stranded in a different country, all your friends and family up in the frozen north, you don't know if they're still alive, they probably don't know if you are either. To add to that, even if they _are_ alive up there, they certainly run the risk of death considering how fucked up the world is right now, just like if I were to toss you out of this room, you'd run just as big of a risk as dying as any of them."

The soldier's expression was sour as Luka finished his provocative rant. Instead of rewarding him with a large reaction, he simply shrugged and said,

"You're no different."

"Yes. Yes I am. I'm American." He deliberately paused after this, letting a lengthy silence swirl about the room as if that was all he need to say to prove himself. He waited until the soldier's frown had deepened significantly before continuing. "Besides, my friends and family were on a few of the first choppers out of here. I watched them go." A bluff, but it was delivered so expertly, he himself would've bought it if he didn't already know the truth. Whether or not Brian did remained uncertain, as he'd fixed the younger man with a curious stare.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?" The worker feigned innocence with a smile.

"That. I've done nothing but help you since the moment we met and you're purposefully trying to get a rise out of me."

"'Nothing but help me?'" A bitter laugh assaulted the air, making the girl in the corner stirr. "Dude, you had me at gunpoint with a rifle. How it that helping?"

"It was a self-inflicted situation. I have no doubt that you were just trying to get a rise out of us then, just as you are now. Why?"

This time, Luka shrugged.

"It's what I do."

"To hide your fear?"

"No," Luka snapped, "to keep me entertained. I bore easily."

The blonde tried to return the stern look he received with a carefree one of his own, but he couldn't stop himself from glaring, even if only slightly.

"Alright, alright." Brian held up his hands as if in surrender -though to what, even Luka didn't quite know- and slowly went to rise. Instead of confronting him further, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked down to the blonde with a relatively relaxed expression. "Is your arm feeling okay?"

"Just dandy, soldier-boy."

Instead of responding, Brian turned and moved near silently over to the corner where Anna lay, curled into a tight ball. He stooped down, withdrew his hands from his pockets and gave the girl a gentle nudge. When his hand came in contact with her bare arm, his eyes widened.

"She's cold," he commented to no one.

Luka said nothing, simply watching. Absently, he commented to himself that his head hurt.

It _really_ hurt.

He shook her again, a little stronger now. When she didn't move, he heard the soldier mutter something, tone laced with worry though what he'd said was not clear at all. His hand wormed his way into the protective crown her arms formed over her head. Luka had a feeling he was checking for a pulse, judging by the concerned frown on his face.

He was silent for a long while, hand shifting occasionally in the mess of arms and fabric.

Luka suddenly saw him let out a long sigh, pulling his arm away slowly and shaking his head. He pulled the jacket the girl had been gripping tightly, and the blonde watched as large hands pulled the fabric away from arms that no longer clung with such force. They fell lifelessly to the floor.

Luka blinked, a sudden pain in the back of his head as he continued to watch, the man reaching out to gently pet the girl's head. He tucked some stray strands of hair behind her ear before pulling his jacket back over his shoulders with a troubled frown.

"She's dead."

Luka felt the air leave him, unable to explain why.

"She's _what?_"

She was fine a few minutes ago!

"Dead, Luka." Brian barely glanced over his shoulder to the baffled blonde, his words blunt and heavy.

"How?"

The soldier shrugged.

"She was weak."

"She-!" He almost went to correct him, stopping himself just in time. Luka didn't press much more, unsure as to how he should react to this now that arguing was out of the question. He didn't know the girl well, and his only interactions with her had been mocking. But still, she'd helped get him here, and was partially the reason he was still alive. So, in a sense, had she given her life in exchange for saving his?

That was wrong.

Not him.

This was wrong.

He shook his head quickly.

_Wake up_.

The pain vanished.

"Luka?"

He blinked, that voice suddenly much louder and piercing than it had been for the delivering of heavy news. His mind felt fuzzy, so he shook his head to clear it.

"You okay?" The soldier turned to him. Where was his jacket?

Back in her hands.

The fuck?

"I'm...fine?" He was unable to keep the statement from turning into a question. He was stared at a moment longer, before the soldier shrugged absently and went back to shaking the girl. Luka found himself staring baffled, his mind once again a jumbled of thoughts.

"Anna, wake up." Brian pressed, as if he hadn't just confessed to her passing.

"The hell?"

"Anna, come on. Get up."

Luka was tempted to get up himself – and kick Brian in the back. He didn't know why he didn't do so, only able to blame the sudden a heavy haze on his brain as he watched.

Watched as he continued to nudge her softly.

Watched as he called her name.

Watched as she answered.

Watched as she slowly pushed herself upright.

"What the fuck is wrong with me?" Luka said out loud, pressing a hand to his forehead. Both people in the room turned to look at him blankly, confused as to his sudden and panicked outburst. Anna narrowed her eyes, and without missing a beat, responded.

"Well, you're bitter, ungrateful, racist and an asshole."

He could only stare.

* * *

"We need to get moving."

Luka sat, facing inwards to the little triangle they'd formed, sitting on the floor. He'd forced himself to conclude that he'd only _imagined_ the entire 'Anna being dead' thing, and that she really was okay and sitting just to his left. His only problem with accepting this was that the whole thing had felt so real and had been so seamless. He hadn't fallen asleep, or been knocked out cold. Nothing had looked any different. Just one minute, she was dead, the next: she was insulting him.

Now, they'd seated themselves by the door, facing one another as they talked. Brian had automatically assumed leadership, being the oldest of the group. Luka didn't care enough to interject _yet_. Anna looked up to the man enough to respect his judgement, even if she'd only known him for a short while.

As she sat, she shivered and clung to her legs. She still wore Brian's jacket over her shoulders, but it didn't seem to be helping her quivering at all. While the soldier often shot her a worried look, Luka pretended to be indifferent. He barely gave a sign that he noticed her shaking.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious." Luka's bitter response was ignored. The pair seemed to be a building a steady tolerance for his snide remarks.

"They say New Orleans is still running a lot of large-scale, successful evacs," Brain continued, "I think we should start heading in that direction."

"But that's two cities away, is it not?" Despite being Mexican -_Spanish-_ Anna seemed to have a decent understanding of the surrounding cities. New Orleans wasn't impossibly far, but it was quite the distance.

"We'll find some form of transportation."

"Like a Jet plane?"

Luka's quip was ignored as usual.

"There's tons of cars around, we just have to find a working one."

Anna shook her head quickly, firmly.

"No. No. I would much rather walk than chance alerting every brain-dead citizen of Grenada with a car alarm. Or Sirens. Or...anything...really. I'd much rather go quietly."

"We _are not _walking all the way to New Orleans," the blonde shot a firm glare at the girl, refusing to be budged on that matter. He was a built man, but he was not cut out for cross-country hiking.

"I never said we had to walk," Anna held up her hands in surrender after seeing Brian nod slowly in agreement, "just...I'd much rather our transportation be more reliable."

"That is a pretty sound request. We don't have too much more ammo between us, we can't waste it."

"So what?" Luka huffed, putting on a front of frustration. "Are we going to just walk until we can flag down a taxi?"

"They are still running?"

"No, Anna, he was kidding." Brian sighed, running a hand through dark locks as they thought. He had taken it upon himself to somehow ensure the well being of the pair sitting before him. Anna was young, innocent, anything but helpless and eager to follow someone who pretended to know what he was doing. Luka was ungrateful, undeserving and extremely hard to put up with, but the soldier felt as if he had no desire to carry to burden of leadership yet did not really want to be left alone.

So, while he didn't call himself the 'leader,' he settled on the term 'guide.' He just had to figure out where he was guiding them to. With a thoughtful frown, his gaze drifted to the blonde, who sat cross-legged on the floor. His large frame was curled over the shotgun in his lap, elbows resting on his knees and supporting a bored expression by the chin. Anna was trying to make herself as compact as possible to fit under the peacekeeper's jacket. He hadn't missed her shivers, but had failed to truly come up with an occasion to properly address them.

Until now, that is, when the conversation had ground to an uncertain halt.

"Are you alright?" He asked, turning a blue-eyed stare to the foreign girl, who instantly tried to contain her shivering. He was unable to hide a cautious frown, refusing to beleive the girl thought she had gone unnoticed. "You've been shivering like that for hours."

"It's just cold in here."

"No it 'aint." For once, Brian was glad for Luka's blunt statement. It was an honest one, at that. Luka's grime-covered waterproof jacket and green hard hat had been ditched to lay in a corner somewhere. His broad, muscled chest was now covered soully by a well-fitting navy t-shirt, and a wild head of blonde hair was slowly beginning to break the mould of hat hair. With the loss of excess clothes, the pair of them could still see a dampness about the man's hairline. He was sweating.

Brain himself was no cooler.

Yet Anna claimed to be cold.

"I'm just..." Anna paused, wondering if the truth was even worth sharing, "really, really hungry."

Luka snorted, the sound leading a bitter laugh from the man.

"Join the club, Mexican."

"Luka, she's probably not even half your size."

"So?"

"So. She probably eats half as much as you do."

"So you're saying I should be the one craving full-fat macaroni and cheese?"

"No, I'm saying she's got less to run on. When was the last time you ate, Anna?"

"Uh...two nights ago?" Anna looked at her feet as she shuffled awkwardly. She had been _trying_ to avoid bringing this self-proclaimed unimportant issue to light. "I didn't have breakfast yesterday, and never got a chance to eat when...well, you know."

"Shit, woman. Feed yourself," grunted Luka.

"With what?" Anna shot back.

Unable to keep a lecherous grin from stretching across his face, Luka decided to keep _his_ suggestion to himself.

"She does have a point," rushed Brian, quickly trying to steer the conversation away from where Luka was tempted to take it, "I last ate yesterday before coming into town, I'll be feeling similar hunger pains soon. We can't function on nothing. We need to find provisions." He paused, flicking his gaze from the inexpressive Luka to the wide-eyed Anna. "Provisions that can't be found in a closet."

"About that, is this seriously a closet?" Luka straightened out to look at the small room one more time, frowning at the proximity of all four walls.

"It's a pantry. We're in a cellar," Brain said, motioning to the door, "beyond that is stairs."

"Oh, well, why here?"

"The door locked, the cellar looked safe and the house was on fire," Anna said in a surprisingly flat tone, managing to hold in her shivering long enough to speak.

"That, and you were getting heavy. We couldn't be picky."

"Right."

There was another pause as the three of them equally considered what to do next. Brian was, as usual, the first to break the brief quiet with a pressing question.

"Anna, how well do you know the city?"

She shrugged.

"I've only been here a few months. I really haven't been that far in..."

"Luka?"

"Shit, I'm a local."

"Alright, where's the nearest grocery store?"

The soldier jumped in surprise at the harsh laugh that answered him.

"The nearest grocery?" Luka echoed. He shook his head, sly smile implying he felt as if he was talking to a slow-witted youth. "Buddy, I have no fuckin' clue where we are aside from in an underground closet. How on earth am I supposed to direct you anywhere from _under_ the middle of nowhere?"

Brian frowned, but couldn't argue. The guy was a jerk, but he was right and only being honest in his own brutal way.

"So, if we pack up and get moving, do you think you can find us _something?_" The soldier was unable to keep the desperation out of his voice. Up until now, he'd been in charge, the man with answers. But he had to eventually face reality: he was more of a foreigner than the Spanish girl beside him. He was only here visiting, and the only reason he'd even been able to get here in the first place was due to written directions and the frequent use of a map. He'd never been this far south in his life. He now had to put the control in the hands of someone who seemed to barely understand the concept of self-control.

"I can find something, for sure. Can't guarantee what, though, depends on my mood. Personally, I'm feelin' like a cold one."

"You _are_ a cold one, and you're going to be '_feelin_' like shit unless you help us and stop being such a dick!" Anna snapped, thin patience, fatigue and hunger driving her quickly over the edge. She seized her pistol and pointed it at the man with a growl. This time, safety was off. There was no uncertain shake in the way she held the gun.

She was fed up.

"Can't help it, Mexican."

"Well _learn_ to!"

Brian surprised himself in being unable to interrupt. He would if it got dangerous, but there was nothing the girl was saying that he didn't agree with.

"You're ungrateful for everything we've done for you, right down to dragging you out of the burning car, carrying you across the city and nursing you back to your pathetic, jerkish self!"

Luka's confident grin died just a little, replaced with a look of thoughtfulness as the girl continued.

"It would be _so_ much easier for me to pull the trigger and walk away from your corpse than put up with your bitter, uncooperative person until we get rescued, _if _we get rescued at all!" Anna paused, red faced, to breathe. But she was not quite done, not yet. "But don't get me wrong, _Luka_," she spat his name out in rage, "I _want_ to live long enough to give my damn best effort, and I'm not about to let some conceited asshole ruin my chances for survival!"

Tears pricked at her eyes as she gasped, anger undoing the tight bindings that had kept her together. Luka chanced a quick gaze to the soldier, sitting quietly to the side. He had noticed the peacekeeper's failure to do the job his title insinuated, and could only conclude that he simply felt no need to keep the peace anymore. It seemed as if the worker had worn out his welcome.

"So, if you're going to _insist_ to treat _our_survival like a joke, I'm going to laugh as hard as I possibly can when I end any chance for your own!" Tears streamed down her face now, though no sobs accompanied them. Luka felt floored by the raw emotion she displayed, unable to silence her. "_Please _grow up enough to pick your sorry ass off the floor before I shoot it, get your shit together and march, moron!"

Finally, she breathed deeply, sucking in air in an ungraceful gasp. She shook violently, lower lip trembling as the tears continued to fall. Both men could only stare as the teen finally let the weapon shake in her hands. She pulled it close to her chest, shrugged off the jacket on her shoulders and stood. Luka was surprised the girl did not topple over as she turned on her heel and walked to the door, shaking uncontrollably as she opened it and began to trudge forcefully up the stairs.

The cellar doors slammed shut behind her, aided partially by gravity as she threw them down. The noise must've drawn the attention of some nearby lost souls, for moments after the males could hear gunshots being fired. But they were not rapid and paniced, but precise, patient and even.

Brian slowly tore his gaze from the door, letting in fall to the younger man in silence. Under that unreadable stare, Luka absorbed some of the anger the girl had left in the room, turning it around and to the peacekeeper who'd failed to defend him and keep the peace. He just didn't understand that he'd used up any rights he had to the man's protection long ago. He'd yet to come to the realization that even as the world ended, there were still consequences to his actions.

"Fuck, Soldier-boy, do you want to tear me a new one too?" He snapped, narrowing his eyes dangerously as his fists clenched at his sides.

The soldier frowned, shook his head and rose, collecting his sniper from where it leaned against the wall, picked his jacket off the floor and moved to follow, but not without calling faintly behind him.

"We're going. You can decide if that 'we' includes you."

And he was gone.

Luka swore loudly as the cellar doors shut behind the soldier, leaving him alone on the concrete floor. He burned with shame, feeling like a scolded child as he sat in a make-shift 'time out'. Instinct made him want to chase after that bitch and throttle her, unused to that kind of behaviour coming from someone else's mouth. His mind swelled with a dark feeling rage and revenge, but his heart had sunk in his breast and grasped what his brain had not.

He deserved that.

The realization crawled out from his chest, making his limbs weak and his throat burn. He'd been asking for it since the moment he pulled up beside the two, and had only managed to pile on reasons to hate him, reasons to want him dead. His careless attitude had blinded him from the fact that this illness not only stripped away the humanity of those infected, it ground down hard and fast on the survivors, forcing them to rely on nothing more than the humanity society had abandoned.

Luka knew it was not the pampered, leisurely humanity that existed in a carefree world where loss was only a minor concern meant for distant lands. This was raw human nature at its most primitive form, where survival brutally dominated etiquette and freedom. The teen, lacking in the years of conditioning of the soldier, had been the first to surrender her patience to the disease, destroying her fronts to pour her heart out in a pure will to survive.

He had to respect the emotion she'd shown, the same emotion he was so careful to keep in control.

He wondered if that made her stronger than him, if the fact that she had so much sooner demolished her emotional walls in light of a situation bigger than all of them. Her survival had come above her feelings, while his life still swam beneath his lacking willpower to do anything more than toy and torment.

Shit.

Shitshitshit.

Luka was a smart man. He knew when he'd been bested. But it was hard to so easily admit defeat to a hormonal female Mexican teenager.

Grumbling, he forced himself to his feet, wandering into the corner to place his hat on his blonde hair and pull his arms through his loose jacket, neglecting to do it up as he picked his shotgun off the floor and headed for the cellar doors.

Neither Brian nor Anna said a word when the third had appeared at their side, his face etched in an alien expression of loss. They spared him only a glance, the girl's eyes flickering with something unreadable before she returned to the task of steadily advancing down the street, picking off the sick before they could get too close.

Silently, the moved together. A trio of clashing personalities forced to unite under extreme stress, killing for the name of something primitive and instinctual.

Survival.

There were no more ranks. No more superiority based on wealth and knowledge. Gradually, they would be grated down to nothing but the basics, forced to shine through a muddy atmosphere.

Brian understood it. War and conflict had made his realization come early, quick and harsh in it's deliverance.

Anna was a close third. The snap of her final straw had been the loud proof that she'd finally given up on being forgiving.

Luka floated somewhere in the middle. He had understood the concept of humanity and how clouded it was even before the infection. When it had hit and clarity had followed, denial set in. Now, with nothing but acceptance powering the continuous pull of a hard trigger, he'd shed his pride and joined the ranks of those ready to _fight_ for the right to _live._

* * *

"_Move it, _soldier-boy, I can't carry both of you!" Luka turned just enough to look back at the soldier as he ran. Brian was running backwards, shooting at the approaching horde with a rifle, trying in vain to thin their numbers. The blonde could no longer wield a gun, considering how he was now preoccupied with keeping the thin frame of the Mexican from flying off his shoulder.

She'd collapsed from weakness about an hour or so after leaving the cellar, no longer able to keep pushing herself without serious, lasting effects. She was semi-conscious and mumbling petty lies of 'I'm fine, just tripped,' when the pair had backtracked to where she lay on the ground.

The Canadian had been the first to stoop down and pull her off the concrete, set on carrying her just as he'd done for the younger man. The self-appointed duty of protecting those around him evident and at it's strongest when someone was in need. However, the irony of the next few moments hit him hard when the very same man he'd carried through the city spoke to stop him from doing the same to the girl.

"Leave her," he had ordered flatly. It was no wonder why Brian had instantly misinterpreted his words.

"I'd sooner leave you," shot back the soldier in brutal honesty. Of course, his remark had been shoved off just as he'd been shoved aside, swallowing his protests as he watched the blonde scoop the girl off the ground and throw her over his shoulder, one arm up to keep her there while the other hand still held tightly to his shotgun.

"Having a change of heart?"

"Dude, you're the better shot. Besides, I'm going to bet you're sore-as-shit from carrying _me_across town," Luka had tried to play off the good deed as nothing special, already carrying on his way as Brian moved to keep pace. "You're more useful to me when you actually have functional control of your arms. I'll carry the kid. She weighs next to nothing, anyways."

Brian had tried to draw light to the fact that for the first time since they'd met, the young man was doing a selfless deed, but Luka would hear nothing of it. He hardly seemed to notice the added weight of the girl as they'd continued walking, both men ignorant to the tiny quips of protest from the girl being carried. She insisted she could walk, and that they didn't have to worry.

Luka would deny the notion of worrying and claim that it was just faster this way, where she couldn't slow them down.

Brian would agree quietly, then add with a bright smile that it was his job to worry.

Anna would just nod, accepting the words of both individuals for the personalities they reflected, a little displeased at the fact that she was being carried like a sack of potatoes, but grateful for the assistance none the less as she tried to make herself comfortable.

Then everything began to tumble downhill and out of control.

The trio had done nothing to draw attention to themselves. In fact, they'd been doing quite the opposite: progressing quickly and quietly without making too much noise and staying about as far away from any parked car as they could manage. Regardless of their stealthy movements, one of them seemed to play as a magnet to the infected.

A crazed horde had felt the need to drive it's hive-mentality soldiers towards the pair of men. Waves upon waves of zombies seemed to pour out of nowhere, escaping out of every pore of the city like sweat. At the chilling howls that echoed through the empty streets, the pair had broken into a mad dash down the road, Luka in the lead because he knew where he was going. Brian would keep pace, pause every moment or so to shoot back into the following crowd, then catch up.

Soon he had to abandon this, as they'd gotten so close that stopping meant being overwhelmed.

However, the change in pace had forced him to adjust his hold on the girl to stop her from becoming zombie-chow as they fled. He'd hooked his shotgun around a finger and swung the girl down off his shoulders and into his arms, holding her tightly to his chest as he sprinted as fast as his feet could carry them both. The zombies were practically nipping at his heels.

They didn't have far to run, but those two short streets might as well have carried on for miles.

For the life of him, Luka was unable to figure out why he was unable to just drop the girl and flee for himself, certain he could go so much faster without the added weight – no matter how little it was.

_'The debt,'_ be thought grimly to himself, _'I have to repay my debt.'_

The worker focused on these words as he ran, somehow fueling himself to go faster, putting the horde further behind him.

He heard a terrible, familiar rumbling in the distance, but had no time to worry about it.

"There, there!" Luka tried frantically to nod in the direction of the large plaza in front of them, but he needn't have bothered. The soldier had already put on the speed, running ahead of them to get there first. For a moment, the blonde thought this was a selfish act, abandoning them to reach safety first. This thought was quickly banished when the soldier spun, dropped down on one knee and began to fire into the crowd behind them, standing back up and carrying on only when Luka had caught up, which never took long.

Brian took off again, heading with no further regards to the horde behind them towards the doors.

Until a nearby, familiar cry made him hesitate.

However, his eagerness to reach the doors and clear the way for his comrades won over, and he didn't quite have the time to pay as much attention to what was going on behind him. If he had, he just may have turned about and charged blindly into the horde.

A long, thick tongue wrapped its slimy self around the girl's protruding ankle, which went unnoticed by her carrier until she was yanked briskly from his arms with a shriek. Her screams were lost in the wail of the infected as she was dragged off to one side of the street – towards the roof where a smoker stood, pulling in his catch like a fisherman.

"Shit!" Luka turned, hardly thinking twice as he chased after the girl being dragged away, a slew of curses tumbling from his lips. He stumbled the first few steps as he charged head-first towards the horde which had veered in the direction of the captured girl.

He cursed, finding a wall of infected taking place between him and the youth.

His shotgun was going off, ten repetitive shots into the backs of ten unfortunate zombies, but then he had to reload. As he clicked each individual shell in the barrel, all he could hear was Anna's screams, shrill and loud over the howls of the creatures surrounding her.

He realized he wouldn't tear through the crowd fast enough, suddenly feeling short of breath.

Even with this thought heavy on his shoulders, he continued to shoot, slowly advancing through the waves of zombies that put up no fight: they had an easier target to focus on, after all. When the twentieth zombie clattered to the floor a bloody mess, he could just barely make out a familiar tan colour on the ground through the crowd.

She wasn't screaming anymore.

"Mexican!" He called loudly out to her, but the infected only swarmed in tighter, stooping down to form a dome of rotting flesh around the femme. "Hey, _Anna!" _He forced his voice out in volume, trying to be heard over the relentless noise surrounding him. "Don't you dare fucking die on me, woman!"

It was no use, he could barely hear himself, his voice drowned out in the warped cries of the infected. There was just too much noise.

Noise.

Wait.

One of the creatures unconsciously reared back, driving her elbow harshly into his ribs. He stumbled back, more winded than injured. Of course, it seemed as a blessing in disguise. Allowing himself to walk a little further back, one hand dove down the collar of his shirt, grasping a small chain that hung around his neck and pulling it out into the open.

The small silver object seemed to fragile in his blunt fingers, but he managed to bring it to his lips, clamp his mouth around it and blow, hard.

A shrill, high-pitched sound pierced through the howls like nothing else. The whistle was certainly quite a few octaves higher than what was comfortable and painless to human ears, especially with the urgency of it's use. Angry at the painful interruption, almost every infected head turned in his direction, followed by the turn of a body, and then the senseless charging of their owners.

The infected didn't know nor care who this man was, they only knew he had something that caused them pain – made noise. Disturbed them. As punishment, he had to be killed.

If they could only get close enough, he would be. They would fall before getting within arm's reach, whether by being caught in the spray-effect of a shotgun blast or smashed solidly in the face with the butt of the gun. Body after body clattered to the ground in a bloody mess. Luka couldn't contain a grin, impressed his plan had worked, and that it was going far better than expected. He could rip his way through these _things _like paper, and get back to pulling the girl's sorry ass out of trouble.

_Click._

His confidence plummeted, but he had no time to dwell on the fact that his shotgun no longer had any rounds to shoot. There wouldn't be a chance for him to reload, so he was forced back to trying to keep the beasts at bay with the frantic swings and jabs of his gun. A shriek sounded awfully close to his left, turning his head in time to see a dark creature crawling towards him on all fours, pointed teeth shining out from beneath a navy hood.

As it coiled to spring, he braced himself for the impact, beginning to feel the burning of fists pounding against his arms and back.

Then, the creature's head exploded in a shower of blood.

Two zombies beside him clattered to the floor, one sporting a large hole in it's chest and the other in it's stomach.

Another fell, blood spurting from it's throat.

Bit by bit, the crowd was diminished enough for the blonde to focus his gaze on the soldier. He was quite a distance away, but that seemed to heed him none. He was down on one knee, scope levelled with his eye as that long black rifle delivered death from dozens of metres away.

Luka wasn't sure if he would've thanked the man had he the time. As soon as the path was clear, he shoved his way through the staggering corpses that remained.

The girl was on the floor by the wall – no sign of the creature that had grabbed her, clearly having decided to give up it's prey. Deciding not to question this oddity, he stooped down. Her body looked bloody and broken, dark bruises littering the dark skin liberally. Her eyes were closed, her head back, her mouth slightly open, blood streaming from the corner of his mouth.

"What the fuck did I tell you?" Snarled the worker as he hit his knees, already trying to hook his arms around her as not to further injure her.

So focused was he on painlessly lifting the young woman, that he did not hear the high-pitched wailing behind him, did not hear the horrible retching sound. He did, however, feel the sudden and intense burning of acid on his knees. His gaze dropped to the floor.

A green, bubbling substance pooled on the concrete beneath him and the girl. It crackled and fizzed audibly, burning his skin to the touch. With an alarmed cry, he realized the acid was burning more and more the longer he knelt in it.

He did not get up to flee.

Instead, he propped on knee up, hooking one arm under the girl's neck and another just below her rear, gripping tightly to her thighs as he lifted her off the ground. He gritted his teeth, doing his best not to cry out as the acid now burned into the soles of his feet, dripping down his legs with the sensation of liquid fire.

Luka staggered out of the puddle in a limp, his legs now alive with pain as he tried to progress towards the solider. A flash of green caught his attention just in time to see a long-necked female go clattering to the floor, blood and acid seeping out of the wound in her throat.

"Shit, soldier-boy," he mumbled to himself under his breath, put in awe by the man's aim as yet another zombie attempting to blind-side him went clattering to the floor. He limped his way as fast as he could towards the grocery store which Brian knelt between. Seeing his approach, the soldier rose, fired a few more times, then spun to head towards the store.

Naturally, it was at this moment that another chorus of howls echoed up into the night, accented by a distant rumble that sounded a lot like thunder. Neither of the men looked back, in fear of being demotivated at the sight of even more creatures pouring endlessly from alleys and windows.

Of course, Brian reached the building first, conflicted that the doors didn't automatically open for him as usual. He all but smacked into them with the force of his running, pounding frantically on the glass for a moment before wedging his fingers between the doors and pulling. He was somewhat pleased to find that they were difficult to open, but not impossible. He pried the heavy doors open long enough for him to slip through, then pulled the door back a little further so the broad-shouldered Luka could fit through without hitting his precious cargo off the entrance-way.

When they were both inside, Brian pushed the door shut tightly, backing away from the windows as he levelled his rifle with the head of an approaching zombie, just in case.

The infected man slammed into the glass, just as the soldier had done moments before, but it did not break. It held firm, even as more and more zombies slammed into the glass like hail on a windshield. Luka paid little attention to the whole ordeal, leaving Brian to push a row of shopping carts in front of the door on his own. The worker took to limping inside the store, taking an immediate left and setting the girl down on the customer service counter.

He stood there for a moment, nearly forgetting the pain in his legs as he stared down at the girl and waited.

Waited as he nudged her softly.

Waited as he called her name.

Waited as she remained silent.

Waited as she stayed deathly still.

No. No. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was doing good! He'd been thinking for others, for once, and this is how god chose to repay him? Rewarding his first good deed in a long time by murdering the recipient?

He slammed his fists into the counter by her head, ignorant to how the tired palms ached in protest.

This brought the attention of the soldier, who'd secured the doors enough to satisfy himself and returned to tend to the wounded. His medkit was clutched tightly in his right hand, but upon looking from the girl to the worker, he had no idea where to start.

He stepped towards the worker, who shook his head and withdrew.

So he moved to the limp body on the counter.

"Anna?" He called softly, reaching a warm hand out to touch her arm. She was still flushed with heat, but whether that was from her previous fatigue, or the bruises, or simply the last of her life force...Brian preferred not to dwell on it.

His touch moved up her arm to rest lightly on her throat, specifically the space just beside her windpipe. He winced as his fingers grazed over a rope-like dark bruise on her throat that was trademark with strangulation.

He waited for a while, pressing two fingers gently into the side of her throat.

Then a little harder.

And then, in desperation, a little harder still.

No steady pulse. In fact, there was no pulse at all. The flesh beneath his fingers was all too still, that body beneath his hands terrifyingly motionless.

"She's..." the words caught in the man's throat. He paused to breathe, running a hand through his hair and clenching a fist at his side. "She's gone, Luka. We're two of a kind, now..." A sad smile graced the soldier's features as he forced himself to relax. He drew a hand through her hair, reminding himself that while the young woman was gone: she had to be in a better place than this.

But Luka was silent. At first, the Canadian beleived it was because of greif. He was more than prepared to quietly remind the younger male that they had been robbed of the luxury to waste too much time on the past. They had to keep moving, if not for their own sake's, for Anna's.

As he turned, however, he was instantly on alert.

The worker was rigid, his hands slowly raised in the air and his eyes narrowed in hostility. A cool, level voice rang out into the silence as clear as a bell.

"On your knees," it ordered. Luka made a noise that sounded like a growl from somewhere in the pit of his throat, unable to bite back a bitter retort:

"Fuckin' cougar 'aint getting enough action on her own?"

"_On your knees, boy."_Luka's head bucked forward as he was smacked abruptly with the butt of a gun. Grumbling and resiting the urge to rub his sore head after the blow, he slowly obeyed. He got down on one knee first, then slowly shuffled his other down: revealing the figure his larger frame had been hiding.

Brian wasn't sure what to feel.

The person holding a gun to the back of the kid's head was an old woman. She wasn't very tall, probably only coming up to Luka's shoulders before he'd knelt. Filled out slightly by age, she had white hair and sharp green eyes. That hair was short, slightly curled and matted with blood and dirt. Her eyes shone with a hardened, unsympathetic will to survive.

The irony of the situation was that the woman looked like one of those typical, bake-you-cookies-for-mowing-her-lawn-type-ladies. She certainly didn't look like the type to hold a much larger, younger and stronger man at gunpoint. Nor did she look like the type to glare as savagely at the remaining survivor as she did.

Slowly, Brian put his hands up in the air – but kept his body in front of the counter.

"Hey, just relax," he said softly, meeting that hardened stare as best he could.

"I'm perfectly relaxed," she shot back, tone curt. "And if you do as I say and stay the same, we shouldn't have any problems."

"Yeah fuckin' right."

Luka was whacked solidly over the head.

"You, marine."

Brian lifted his head a little at being addressed.

"Put your gun and first aid kit on the floor, step away from the counter. Keep your hands where I can see them."

Slowly, he went to obey, though he did not stay quiet.

"Hey, I think this is a bit of a misunderstanding-" he began, "-my friend and I, we were just looking for shelter...I can understand the first-come, first-serve thing, especially in these times, but please...We'll leave, just let us wait out the crowds...I can understand if you're scared, but we're not infected, we're fine and we won't hurt you."

"Speak for yourself," Luka growled again, only to be kneed harshly in the back.

"Don't lecture me, boy. Fear is a luxury I can't afford at the moment. However, I can afford to seize assistance from two strapping young fellows such as yourself. I'll need provisions to survive: provisions that are harder for me to gather on my own."

"Then we'll help you!" Brian was in the process of backing away from the counter at this point. "There's no point in being enemies right now...We could use the extra gun, the extra pair of eyes. We can stick together and look out for each other, and we can certainly help you get the things you need to-"

"Dear lord, child, what have you done?"

Brian had finally revealed Anna's beaten corpse. The woman's eyes had softened at the sight, gun trembling ever so slightly in her hands.

"Oh...This is...This was Anna...She was a friend of ours too..."

Luka turned his head just a little to the right, trying to catch a glimpse of his captor in the corner of his eye. As he did so, Brian continued.

"We just lost her...out there. So...I know it doesn't really matter to you, but...it's kind of a tender moment...she was just a kid..."

"I can see that." All shock was gone from the woman's voice, replaced with a cool, calculative tone. She flicked her gaze to the blonde on his knees, then the dark-haired girl on the counter. She heaved a sigh, then pulled back her gun and drove it hard into the back of Luka's skull.

The Grenada native clattered to the ground, causing Brian to stiffen at the display of violence.

"Relax, boy," the woman said smoothly, "I don't trust him enough to lower my gun around him yet."

Inwardly, Brian concluded that she did trust _him_ enough to do so.

Slowly, the woman advanced, eyes on the girl as she approached. Each step that brought her closer to the body meant the gun was lowered just a fraction groundwards. The soldier watched her carefully, and in return, the white-haired woman returned the weary stare.

"May I?" She asked, motioning slightly to the girl on the counter.

Brian nodded slowly.

The woman put her gun on the counter by the girl's feet, hands moving to inspect her bruises and wounds, to feel for a pulse on her wrist, then her neck. After a moment's pause, she hummed thoughtfully, placing a weathered hand on the youth's forehead.

"I remember when my daughter was this age," she said aloud, commenting more to herself than the nearby soldier, however. Understanding this, Brian remained silent, respecting the woman's space until she flicked her stare back to him. "I will make you a deal, boy. Even now, it seems wrong to just _steal_ from impressionable young fellows without giving anything in return."

"...Alright?"

"I was saving this for an important occasion. But it seems as if this is as about as important as it's going to get." The woman wondered back out into the store, ducking behind an emptied produce shelf and pulling out a large beige messenger bag. She shuffled through its contents for a while before pulling an orange device from the sack.

Clutching the machine close to her blouse, the woman crossed back over to where the girl lay, setting the thing down by her side and detaching the two paddles.

"Wait, you don't have to..." Brian felt the words tumble from his mouth, but he did not mean them. He was simply trying to remain polite after being so suddenly floored by the woman's odd change of heart.

"It's not like I have anyone else to use it on. I can't exactly use it on myself, now can I?"

Brian shut his mouth an gave a small nod, watching as the elder started up the device, rubbing the softened paddles together as the machine made a high-pitched hissing noise.

"What's your name, ma'am?" Asked the soldier, standing faithfully at attention at the woman's side. The elder cast a gaze over her shoulder, hard eyes softening for a moment: just enough to allow him a sight at a smile.

"Elizabeth."

He would've returned the disclosure of personal information by telling her his own name, but he found himself holding his breath as he watched electricity spark between the paddles. His tongue had swollen in his mouth and forced him to an awed silence as those paddles pressed down on the girl's chest.

He could only stand and watch in silence as Anna's body writhed and contorted on the counter from the electricity coursing through her veins.

* * *

**Hooowowthat'slong.**

**But unfortunately, something doesn't sit well with me in this chapter. But eh. If I think of it, I'll just come back and fix it laterish. For now, I post this for all you folk to read and hopefully enjoy.**

**Last character to be added here. Before you all get to confident that you know what's going to happen next - I don't even know yet, so uhh...good luck guessing!**

**The Next chapter might end up being the last. It should be, but I never know for certain. So please, all you people who have favourited/alerted this, drop in and say hi! I would really appreciate the support! You've read this far in, so you might as well share your thoughts :3 If they're bad thoughts, how can I possibly hope to improve? D:**

**Thank you for reading this far!**

**Toodles~**

**Shmee.**


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